


Research and Development

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic, Drift Side Effects, Falling In Love, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Ignores Uprising, M/M, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Portland Oregon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Spooning, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-04-27 09:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14422488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: Uprising? I don't know her. This is a post-kaiju fic where Newt and Hermann get everything they deserve for having saved the world: posh digs, dream jobs, and each other.





	1. Chapter 1

An occasional, barely perceptible twitch was all the evidence that the fragment of kaiju brain in the specimen tank was still alive in any meaningful way. Marshal Herc Hansen’s gaze alternated between the tank and the K-science division, two men who, two days ago, had crashed into him bloody, rain-soaked, and haggard, and were at this time bathed, cleanly-dressed, and haggard. The light from the tank cast a sickly yellow glow over all of them, and any words exchanged were half-shouted over the hum of the lab equipment.

Newt, who stood closest to the tank, shifted from foot to foot. “I feel like I’m making the call to destroy the last smallpox sample. Or what I _think_ is the last smallpox sample. What if someone else has a kaiju brain squirreled away somewhere? They’ll have the upper hand.”

“He makes a good point,” Hermann said, turning to Hansen. “What about the others? From the triple event?”

Hansen crossed his arms over his chest. “Slattern is in whatever’s left of the Anteverse. Raiju is at the bottom of the ocean. Leatherback, Otachi and the little one are being dismantled by Hannibal Chau’s crew as we speak. Chau promised the delivery of all primary brains and all secondary brains...with shipping and handling billed to the PPDC, of course.”

This answer did not satisfy Hermann. “It’s very dangerous to trust Chau to deliver the brains intact. Now that we know it’s possible to drift with a kaiju, others will try to do it.” He put his hand to his mouth. “The cultists...”

Hansen waved away his concern. “I’ve dispatched PPDC agents to monitor the dismantling. They’ve promised not to prosecute any other harvesting, so long as they get the brains. We’ve also contacted reps in other cities that might be hoarding parts. We estimate that all remaining kaiju brains and brain fragments will be accounted for within 48 hours. So long as you are absolutely sure that it’s only the brains that need to be disposed of.”

Newt continued to look longingly at the brain fragment in the tank, so Hermann answered for him: “The collective kaiju consciousness was in their DNA, in every fiber of their bodies. But a PONS system can only connect a human brain to a kaiju brain, not to a heart or lung, we are confident.”

“Gentlemen, let me be up-front with you,” Hansen said. “I’m a ranger, not a marshal — not like Pentecost was, anyway. My job was to turn them _into_ remains, not decide what happens once they _are_ remains. I’m trusting you two to know the right thing to do. You’re not gonna make me look like an idiot if I approve the destruction of all the remaining brains?”

Without taking his eyes off Newt, Hermann took the marshal’s elbow and pulled him back a few steps. Newt was still staring at the tank, seemingly mesmerized by it, and did not notice that the conversation behind him had quieted. “While destroying all known samples of anything is anathema to scientists,” Hermann whispered to the marshal, “in this case, I am confident that leaving anyone access to a brain is leaving them access to the Anteverse.” He gestured in Newt’s direction. “And I fear that the person with the most unrestricted access to a kaiju brain is also the person most susceptible to its influence.”

“What about you?” Hansen asked, and rightfully so. “You drifted with one of those things, too.”

Hermann readily acknowledged this. “But Newton did it twice, and the first time, he was alone. I’m not going to claim that I am unaffected, but Newton is worse off, and on his best day he has always been reckless and impulsive.”

“I understand,” said Hansen. “The remaining brains will be brought here, and then I’ll leave it to you to oversee the incineration.”

“Very good, sir,” Hermann answered, with a sharp little bow.

Newt turned and saw this, and scoffed at it. “I really thought you’d get cooler after drifting with me,” he said, “but I guess not.”


	2. Chapter 2

Hermann’s ability to care about anything at all was in rapid decline. He received assignment after assignment from every branch of the PPDC, and filed report after report, and with each passing minute, he cared less and less about delivering something of quality.

The number of reports would have been reasonable if the K-science division had, say, several dozen members. But it had two. Hermann and Newt were expected to not only make a detailed record of the final 48 hours of the war, but to catalog all remaining kaiju parts, inventory all lab equipment, make recommendations for decommissioning of equipment and demobilization of PPDC members, and speculate on every aspect of the Breach, the kaiju, the precursors, and the Anteverse that was not already known. The PPDC expected them to do all this while also being pulled into the medical bay once or twice a day for every kind of physical and psychological examination imaginable, most of which were “purely precautionary,” and some of which took hours.

Even Newt, whose enthusiasm was typically boundless, was running out of steam, despite more and more frequent infusions of coffee. Hermann listened from his own workstation across the lab as Newt’s sighs and growls of frustration became nearly continuous.

Each time Hermann gave in to the urge to shout at Newt that he should take a break, eat something, try to sleep, Newt yelled right back, daring Hermann to do the same. For himself, Hermann found the prospect unthinkable, fearing that if he had a full belly, he might be more inclined to sleep, and if he slept for more than twenty minutes at a time, he might lose his momentum.

Even when a man in a civilian uniform came into the lab, flanked on either side by PPDC security guards, Newt and Hermann looked up only for a moment, not pausing in their work until the civilian addressed them by name.

“I have instructions to deliver this letter only to Doctors Hermann Gottlieb and Newton Geiszler. More specifically, to both of them,” he said. The embroidered logo on his shirt identified him as working for a courier service.

Newt and Hermann met in the middle of the lab and signed for the sealed envelope. The guards then escorted the courier out, leaving them alone to open it. Newt felt a little dizzy, standing up, so he sat down and read the letter out loud.

“Do you recognize this logo?” Newt said, turning the paper around so Hermann could see it.

“It’s familiar,” Hermann said, taking a seat across from Newt, “but I can’t place it.”

“Huh. Well it says: _Dear Doctors Gottlieb and Geiszler_. Eh, don’t like that. I feel that our names should be in alphabetical order, don’t you?”

“Get on with it.”

“ _Words cannot express my gratitude, as a citizen of planet Earth, for your service in_ blah blah blah... _I’m sure by now you have realized that, as the two most famous scientists in the world, you stand at a crossroads, from which you might journey down any avenue that your vision and talent might take you._ Are we famous?”

“We might be,” Hermann muttered. “I have no idea what’s going on out there.”

“ _It is my sincere hope that you have not already decided on your path, that it is not too late to help you make a new home for yourself at..._ ” Newt looked up. “ _Eyebright Industries_.”

“That’s where I’ve seen that logo!” Hermann said, shaking his finger at the letter. “My god, is this letter from David Eyebright himself?”

Newt skipped to the second page of the letter and checked the signature. “Holy shit, yeah.” Newt had to stop and have a little laugh at this. “Rushing to recruit German scientists in the aftermath of the war. This is some real Operation Paperclip stuff!”

“I should hope not,” Hermann snapped at Newt’s allusion. He made a swirling gesture with one hand. “Keep reading, keep reading.”

“ _While there are myriad establishments at which you might employ your prodigious skills, I can tell you with confidence that none of them can offer you the resources, supporting staff, and benefits that Eyebright can._ Newt read ahead. “And it just kind of goes on like that. Anything our hearts desire, if we just sign up with Eyebright. It says here that he’s got a helicopter standing by at his Hong Kong facility, to take us to the airport, whenever we’re ready to go meet with him.”

Now it was Hermann’s turn to laugh. “I would lament the impossibility our traipsing out of this Shatterdome and onto a helicopter, if I weren’t so certain that the letter is a fake. If we reply to it, the next bit of correspondence we get will likely ask us for our credit card numbers and our mothers’ maiden names.”

Newt flipped the letter over and back, as if doing so would provide some insight into its authenticity. “But what if it _is_ real, though? I’m not saying we should go work for Eyebright, but I mean, this is probably not going to be the last letter we get like this. My inbox is already blowing up with emails from some of my fellow MIT alumni.”

“Even if this letter were legitimate,” Hermann reasoned, “we could not work for anyone else, anyway. We’re under contract with the PPDC.”

“Are we, though? I think we kind of put off signing our contracts, and then Leatherback and Otachi attacked, and it sort of lost priority. Technically, we aren’t PPDC employees anymore.”

Hermann’s expression went blank. “You have picked a hell of a time to remember that.”

“Well, I only did because this letter reminded me.” Newton read. “... _as it is my understanding that your contract with the Pan Pacific Defense Corps expired on December 28th, 2024, not having been renewed_.”

“How could he possibly know that?”

Newt rolled his eyes. “Uh, how does Eyebright Industries know everything about us? Are you kidding me with that question?”

Hermann tapped his cane on the ground. “Alright, here is my proposal: Let’s start a pile of offers from companies and universities, and when we’ve gotten ourselves out from under this avalanche of assignments, we can start vetting them.” He took the letter from Newt’s hand, looked around for a few square inches of flat surface upon which to start this pile of papers, and finding none, tacked it on the wall near his chalkboard instead.


	3. Chapter 3

As Doctor Berta Cabrera flicked on her monitor, Hermann averted his gaze; the brightness hurt his eyes. Only when she brought up a screen with a series of rainbow-hued brain scans on a black background did he look directly at what she was showing him.

“This is a typical human brain, one that has never drifted,” she began, pointing at the scan on the far left. Hermann had to take her word for it, as he did with much of what she explained to him, it being outside his area of expertise. “These two belong to a Jaeger pilot team,” she went on, pointing to two adjacent brains whose coloration appeared identical. “As you can see, there are more areas lit up here, and here, but still within the parameters of a healthy, fully-functioning brain.” She pointed to the brain on the far right, and said, “This one is yours, from this morning’s MRI. It’s closer to the Jaeger pilots than the typical brain, you can see. But again, still healthy and functioning. And not as much anomalous activity as the scan we did immediately after your drift. I just wanted to reassure you of that right off the bat.”

“What does Newton’s look like, though? He drifted with a kaiju brain alone, before he and I did so together.”

“I’m afraid Doctor Geiszler’s results are confidential.” It was only when Berta said “Doctor Geiszler” that Hermann realized he’d just called Newt by his first name. How unprofessional.

“That’s alright,” Hermann said, tilting his chin upwards, “I’ll just ask him in five minutes, when I see him.”

Berta smiled. As physician to many drift partners over the years, she probably heard this frequently. She picked up a folder from her desk and said, “So now let’s go over your most recent tests in more detail.”

Just then, a voice came over the public address system. “ _Doctor Hermann Gottlieb, please report to Marshal Hansen._ ”

“Oh dear,” Hermann said, not even pretending that he was sad to have to excuse himself from the medical bay, “I’m afraid it will have to wait until another time.”  
  


***  


Hermann found Marshal Hansen sitting at a desk behind piles of paperwork, looking very out of place, but resigned to his fate.

“We have a problem,” he told Hermann. “The Working Subcommittee on...no, what is it...the Working Breach Defense Group...wait...” Hansen picked up a document and read off of it. “The Pan Pacific Breach Working Group, which is a sub-sub-committee of the Subcommittee on Kaiju Defense and Security...”

“The men who write the checks,” Hermann said, trying to be helpful.

Hansen pointed at him and nodded. “Yeah, those blokes. They are absolutely bloody _furious_ about the destruction of the kaiju brains.”

Hermann rounded his shoulders in deference. “I’m so sorry to have made you the target of their wrath.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Hansen said with a wave of his hand. “I’ll get a reprimand. You and Doctor Geiszler are the ones with the problem. I was just told that I needed to round you two up, because a couple of wonks from Internal Affairs are going to be here in forty minutes to detain both of you. The sub-sub-committee confided to me that your burning of the kaiju brains indicates to them that you are psychologically unsound, and they plan to place you in a British-run mental facility here in Hong Kong, where you can be more thoroughly evaluated.”

Hermann thought he had a card to play here. “But our PPDC contracts expired. We are not beholden to them, we are not subject to their authority, and we haven’t been since December twenty-eighth.”

Hansen twirled a pen in his hands as he looked Hermann in the eye. “That’s why they’re planning to prosecute you as civilian criminals, for destruction of PPDC property.”

Hermann’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Now look,” Hansen went on, “I draw the line at conspiracy: I can’t make any suggestions or provide you with any help at this point. But I think what you did with the brains was right, and if you and Doctor Geiszler were to make a hasty exit from this Shatterdome, without telling any other personnel where you’ve gone, then there’d be nothing I could do to help Internal Affairs track you down. That’s all I have to say.”

“Yes, sir,” Hermann said, saluting the marshal. “May I say it was a pleasure serving under your command—”

“I said _that’s all I have to say_ , Gottlieb! Dismissed!”

“Right, yes.”

Hermann came barreling into the lab, where Newt was going over an inventory checklist from five years ago, trying in vain to reconcile it with the equipment he was currently in possession of. When Hermann explained what was about to happen to them, Newt slammed the clipboard against the lab bench.

“Nuh-uh, there is no way I’m going to a nuthouse. I’m fine. We’re fine. Why does everyone think we’re crazy? Doctor Cabrera said I was good to go. She shined a friggin’ light into this eye—” Newt pulled open his reddened left eye for dramatic effect “—for like five minutes. Does this eye look like it enjoyed having lights shined into it? Not in the least. If I was gonna go crazy, don’t you think it would have happened by now, after the sitting in the MRI, and being stuck with needles, and having people who don’t know dick about shit asking me questions I don’t have time to answer? If I was gonna go crazy, don’t you think it would have happened _twelve years ago_ , when I got my sixth Ph.D., and still no one took me seriously because I was a twenty-three-year-old trying to mentor thirty-year-olds? But guess what, I’m not crazy. I am _resilient_.” He pounded on his chest. “This is what resilience looks like.”

“That’s wonderful, Newton, I’m so glad you’re of sound mind, but what are we going to _do_?”

“Well shit,” Newt said with a shrug, “what about the letter from Eyebright?”

“What about it?”

Newt went over to the Wall of Recruitment, where Eyebright’s letter was now covered up by all the other offers they had received, from prestigious institutions all over the world — none of them, however, as prestigious as Eyebright.

“The letter said he would have transportation out of Hong Kong on stand-by for us. If we can get there, we’ll be scot-free.”

Hermann looked at the clock. “Alright, let us give ourselves ten minutes. Pack whatever you can’t live without.”

They did not call a cab, for fear that their phones were being monitored. Instead, they took their chances on flagging one down when they were on the crowded, neon-lit street. It was pouring rain, and they were soaked within seconds. “Ugh, I could do without this aesthetic,” Newt said, as a car finally pulled up.

Hermann gave the driver the address indicated in the letter. As they drove, Newt said breathlessly, “What if we waited too long? What if the helicopter isn’t there anymore?”

Hermann shushed him, in case the driver’s English was good. “I’m certain everything will be fine,” he said, not certain at all.


	4. Chapter 4

Newt and Hermann were met at the utilitarian glass doors of Eyebright Industries’ Hong Kong facility by a burly man in a suit, who placed a hand on each of their chests as they burst in the door. Undeterred, Newt pulled out the letter they’d received — he had to peel it open, as it had gotten soaked in the rain on their journey — and handed it over. The guard glanced at it, then asked for their identification. They showed him their PPDC badges. “We’ve been waiting for you,” he said, and summoned another guard with his walkie-talkie to take them to the roof.

The helicopter took them over the water to Chek Lap Kok Island and the international airport, where they were hustled across the tarmac to a jumbo jet with EYEBRIGHT INDUSTRIES emblazoned across the side from nose to tail. The whole jet was painted the particular shade of light blue that the world had come to associate with the company, and on the tail fin was the logo that looked like an “e” but also like a stylized human eye. Another man in a suit came down the steps, introduced himself as “Travis,” and took their bags. Newt and Hermann followed him back up.

The interior of the plane was the cleanest, most pleasantly-lit place either of them had seen since the war had begun. They stood uncomfortably, not wanting to sully the rich mahogany and flawless upholstery with their grubby, rain-soaked selves, until Travis bid them sit in a lounge area, where two plush taupe leather armchairs faced two more plush taupe leather armchairs across a low table.  

Out of habit, they looked around for seatbelts to buckle themselves in. Travis had to show them the panel to press to find them. When the plane reached cruising altitude, Travis asked for food to be brought. In the meantime, he explained the travel situation: they would be flown to Portland, Oregon, headquarters of Eyebright Industries and home of David Eyebright himself. “My colleague Chris will help get you settled in there. He has more of the fine details of your Portland itinerary than I do, but I was told to assure you that you are under no obligation to Eyebright until you sign an employment contract. Getting you out of Hong Kong and taking care of any, shall we say, minor misunderstandings with any PPDC sub-committees, that’s just Mister Eyebright’s way of thanking you for your years of service.”

Trays of food arrived for them: toasted turkey sandwiches and a plate piled high with fruit and cheese.

“Can I get some coffee?” Newt asked, reflexively.

“No caffeine necessary for a while,” Travis replied. “My recommendation is that after this, you get some sleep. It’s a fourteen-hour flight.”

“No caffeine necessary,” Newt mumbled to himself, as though this concept were entirely alien to him.

He and Hermann ate silently, mechanically, looking around at the stylish furniture, throw pillows, espresso machine, and numerous flat-screen televisions. Afterward, Travis directed them to two narrow but neatly-made beds toward the rear of the plane. Hermann untucked the blankets from his, turned around to sit and remove his shoes, and found that Newt had simply collapsed atop his.

For the first time in...days? A week? Hermann had nothing to do. He could just...lie down in a bed, and sleep, guilt-free, because he had no tasks. His brain itched and his body ached with the need to do something, out of habit, but the rational part of him, what there was left of it, knew that if he could just calm himself down, he would sleep like the dead.

There was, though, just one more thing he needed to do. Hermann hauled himself up off his bed, stepped across to the other one, and gently removed Newt’s glasses for him. They were his spares, a wire-frame pair that made his face look different. Hermann set the glasses on the nearest flat surface, and sat back down on his own bed. He stayed seated for a while, as something was still telling him that he must resist the urge to become horizontal. He watched Newt, sprawled and already starting to drool. Although Hermann had seen Newt’s face every day for ten years, he was noticing now that something seemed odd about it. It couldn’t have been that Newt’s face had actually changed — aside from his still-red eye, and his perpetually bleary expression, drifting did not have any physiological effects — and yet something was off.

Hermann stared at Newt for a while, trying to keep his eyelids from closing for too long, so that he could solve this mystery. He looked at Newt’s glasses on the table, and suddenly, a memory flashed in his mind. In this memory, he was facing the eternal dilemma of the near-sighted, trying on frames at the optometrist, having to squint at yourself in a narrow mirror to get an idea of what you looked like, frustrated at having to make a commitment of several years, to an accessory that you would have to wear at all times, while half-blind.

But Hermann was not near-sighted, and the blurry reflection in the mirror was Newt’s. Hermann was vividly recalling one of Newt’s mundane past experiences. As intrusive images went, this was a considerable improvement over the flashes of the precursors that he’d occasionally experienced over the last few days, but it was still disorienting.

As he focused on the memory, he realized why Newt’s face seemed odd to him: Newt would be accustomed to looking at his own face in a mirror, wouldn’t he? And now his own memories of Newt’s face were mixed up with Newt’s memories of Newt’s face. Just as when one sees themselves in a photograph and, despite having had that face for years, blurts out, “Is that what I look like?”

The moment he was satisfied that he had solved this little puzzle, and felt fully confident that Newt was safe and comfortable, Hermann tipped slowly onto his side and fell into a dreamless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

The car pulled up to a sleek, contemporary tower, and the driver helped Newt and Hermann with their bags to the main entrance, where they were met by an energetic and nattily-dressed young man who introduced himself as Chris. He effortlessly took both Newt and Hermann’s bags over his shoulder, and invited them through the lobby. He made small talk with them as he led them across the ground floor of the building, inquiring about their flight.

It was not immediately apparent to Newt and Hermann where they were, what _kind_ of building this was. The lobby was spacious and dotted with bland sculptures, with a little lounge area off to one side. Chris led them down a corridor, along which one could look through a picture window into a lavish recreation area, complete with skee-ball, foosball, pinball machines, arcade cabinets, and comfy furniture. But nowhere did they see anything with a logo or sign. Was it an office? A condo?

Newt and Hermann boarded an elevator with Chris, who swiped a key card and hit the button for the top floor. On the journey up, Chris asked them if they were hungry. They said they weren’t, and Chris nodded. “Excellent, excellent, we’ll be able to get right to it, then.”

When the elevator doors opened, it was to a single steel door, which Chris unlocked. On the other side was a spacious and elegantly-furnished apartment. Although Newt and Hermann could still not be sure whether the entire building was residential or commercial, based on what they’d seen of the common areas, the rich carpets, open kitchen, and home theater setup all visible from the entrance made it clear that this, at least, was a residence.

“Is this Eyebright’s home?” Hermann asked.

Chris seemed to find this funny. “No, Mister Eyebright lives near Lake Oswego.”

Newt asked, “Are we meeting him here?”

“I’m afraid not. But don’t feel slighted. Mister Eyebright never meets anyone. Nor does he give keynote addresses, attend staff meetings, or host events. He’s just too busy. Anyway, have a seat, please.”

The nearest seating to them was a massive sectional sofa, but it was so immaculately upholstered, Hermann dared not sit in it. Instead, he sat in a wooden chair at the dining table across the room. Newt, who was in a bit of a daze, followed without comment. Chris seated himself across from them.

“You’re men of science, not schmoozing, so I’ll get right to the point: Mister Eyebright believes that you gentlemen are perhaps the greatest scientific visionaries on Planet Earth right now, and he would like you to work for him, and only him. He understands that, considering your recent accomplishments, you could find a place at any academic institution, research facility, or corporate entity in the world, and so he would like to know what you want to do, so that he can make you an offer tailored to your needs.”

Chris’ statement was so enormous, Newt was, astoundingly, stunned into silence. Hermann, while slightly more able to grasp what was going on, was skeptical of this opportunity. “Even if our now-expired PPDC contracts did not severely restrict the information we are at liberty to discuss outside of a Shatterdome,” he said, “I’m afraid there is no offer which could tempt us to provide an industrialist with the resources necessary to speed his attempts to clone a kaiju, or to build his own personal Jaeger army.”

Chris laughed. “You are mistaken about Mister Eyebright’s intentions. He is not interested in kaiju or Jaegers at all. He is interested in the improvement of the quality of life on this planet, and both of you have shown tireless dedication to this notion, as well, in your own way. He suspects that over the last ten years, you have been daydreaming about what you might be able to devote your time to after the war was over, and whatever that is, he wants to get behind it.”

Newt smirked. “What if we wanted to do something outside the purview of Eyebright Industries?”

“Admittedly, Eyebright Industries has a narrow purpose these days, mostly administrative. However, your area of interest might match up with Eyebright Heavy Industries. Or Eyebright Dynamics. Or the Eyebright Institute. Or the Eyebright Wildlife Alliance.”

Newt and Hermann looked at each other, trying to come up with the next question that would poke a hole in this entire ruse, to prove to themselves that it was indeed too good to be true.

“Of course, you don’t have to make the decision right now,” Chris said. “Tell you what: I’ll give you some time to think about it, and I’ll come back on Thursday. We can discuss it then.”

“That sounds fair,” Hermann said with a nod. “And, ah, what is today...?”

Chris smiled. “Monday.”

“Excellent, yes. Thursday would be fine.”

“In the meantime, though, let me show you around this place. You’re free to make yourself at home here, and if on Thursday you’ve decided to join us at Eyebright, it will be yours for the duration of your employment.”

Chris familiarized Newt and Hermann with the fine details of the apartment: the entertainment system in the living room, the clothes that had been picked out for them in the bedrooms, the food in the kitchens, the toiletries in the bathroom. Chris also showed them onto the patio, where they discovered that theirs was the only apartment on the penthouse level: the patio circled the apartment entirely, offering stunning views of the surrounding city, mountains, and rivers. Every inch of the place was automated and ADA-compliant, Chris pointed out. “Step-free from the street to the patio,” he said to Hermann, “as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

When the tour was complete, they returned to the open kitchen and living area. “The apartment has been stocked with everything you should need, but if we missed anything, feel free to order it with the BrightBuy tablet.” He pointed out to them a screen mounted on the refrigerator, dark until he swiped a finger over it, at which point it lit up. “Have you used BrightBuy before?” he asked.

Hermann and Newt shook their heads. Hermann explained, “I’m afraid our experience with consumer electronics has been sporadic for the past few years. Life is quite isolated in the Shatterdomes.”

“No problem, it’s very intuitive.” Chris showed them how to use the device to order food, books, games, appliances, anything imaginable, as well as how to make “favorites” lists, so that a group of staple items, such as milk and bread, could be ordered with a single touch. “It’s all delivered right to your door,” he explained. “Eyebright employees can order two hundred dollars worth of products free of charge each month.”

Chris shook each of their hands as he said his goodbyes. “My number and email are on the counter, as well as the codes for the security system and some other pertinent information. If you need anything, do not hesitate to contact me.” 

When Chris left Newt and Hermann alone, each of them looked to the other as if to say, _You better talk me out of this now, because I am sorely tempted_. Their feelings on this situation were the same, and it had nothing to do with the drift, but rather with their shared past circumstances: both came from academia, a sheltered parallel world, and then both had gone straight to the Shatterdomes, where all earthly needs were provided. For the last ten years, they could recall only a handful of meals not procured in the cafeteria or delivered by a take-out restaurant. Toiletries and most other necessities came from the quartermaster. While this had resulted in stratospheric productivity, as they rarely had to leave the lab for long, it also meant that both of them now found the prospect of crossing a busy intersection, buying their own groceries, or interacting with a service industry worker unbelievably daunting.

The idea of having their vocational whims fully funded and supported was an obvious boon, but that was a discussion still to be had. Meanwhile, every comfort imaginable was under their feet and all around them, right now. It was all so much to take in, especially when they had been threatened with institutionalization just that morning, in Hong Kong. They both stood rooted to the spot where Chris had left them, for several minutes, seemingly.

“I don’t know about you,” Hermann said at last, “but I would like a shower.”


	6. Chapter 6

There seemed to be no difference in the two bedrooms, nor in either of the _en suite_ bathrooms, so they each took one at random. Hermann examined the tub in his; it had a door on the side, perfectly sealed when closed, so the tub could be filled, but when opened, allowed one to get inside without needing to swing one’s legs over. That was convenient; even if Hermann were able-bodied, he felt right now that he would still not have the strength or energy to climb inside the old-fashioned way. Despite his fatigue, he had slept sporadically on the plane, and had not arrived in Portland well-rested. He hoped this shower would help.

After undressing and stepping into the tub, he reached out for the knob to turn the water on, only to find that there were _five_ knobs. “What in God’s name,” he whispered, and when he looked up, he saw that there was one showerhead where he expected one to be, above him, but also an identical showerhead on the opposite wall, as well as a massive round one hanging from the ceiling over the center of the tub. In no mood for this nonsense, Hermann turned the knobs until he’d managed to get just one of the showerheads to emit a spray of water that was neither scalding nor freezing.

The soap that the bathroom had been furnished with was perfectly acceptable; he wasn’t completely happy with the smell, and would probably order something unscented with that BrightBuy device. But this miniscule frustration was nothing compared to the enormous relief of having such a luxurious bathroom all to oneself, with as much hot water as one cared to have, for as long as one desired. A soft washcloth with no frayed edges, shampoo that seemed to actually make one’s hair feel cleaner, and was this other bottle a different kind of soap just for your face? How decadent.

Hermann thought of the grimy Hong Kong Shatterdome, of the first day he’d toured it, when it was still just an abandoned power station. He thought specifically of the resolve he’d felt then, to make it feel like home, and his subsequent failure to do so, because the task was just so enormous, and he did not need to take on another enormous task. Instead, he had slogged his way through badly-repurposed dormitories, damp and rusty walls, and terrible PPDC-issue toiletries, coping as well as he had only because he lived so much of his life in his own mind, and could dissociate at will.

He was in the shower for forty minutes, until he felt that continuing to stand up was growing dangerously untenable.

In the bathroom closet were stacks of fluffy towels, as well as two neatly-folded bathrobes. He dried himself and put on one of the bathrobes. Taking a last look at the wide marble counters and double sinks with their brushed nickel fixtures, he muttered to himself, “Who is going to keep all this clean?” Then, he answered his own question: “Oh, there’s probably a service.” Well, just because someone was going to help take care of it, that was no reason to become a slob. Hermann picked up his towel and poked around until he found a hamper in the bedroom to place it in.

He found shirts hanging in the bedroom closet, and a variety of other basic articles of clothing in the bureau drawers. He felt odd about wearing clothes that a stranger had chosen for him, a stranger who had anticipated that he would be living here long before he himself had any inkling, but he could at least stand to put on a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. He was slightly cold, and looked for a sweater as well, before realizing that he could adjust the temperature in every room in the apartment. Imagine that: to be able to control his own environment, rather than suffering through sweltering summers and freezing winters!

Another unpleasant feeling, which he often ignored, came suddenly upon him, and again, he rejoiced that he could do something about it, to alleviate it in a satisfying way: hunger. He made his way back out to the kitchen.

On the way, he encountered a correspondingly clean, fresh, and pajama-clad Newt, who, upon seeing Hermann, held his arms out, showing off the sleeves of his gray henley shirt, which covered his hands to the knuckles.

“How do your clothes fit you?” he asked. “Mine are a little long in the sleeves and such. I guess maybe I sounded taller on paper.”

Hermann couldn’t help but smirk at Newt’s endearing misfortune. Newt stepped closer, still holding his arms out. Without thinking, Hermann reached for him – he hesitated when he thought he might be misreading Newt’s gesture, but then plowed ahead anyway. He took the edge of one sleeve between both index fingers and thumbs, and folded it neatly upwards. The familiarity of it was not lost on him; his hands trembled as he did it, but he hoped that Newt did not notice, or at least that he would chalk it up to the tendency of Hermann’s hands to tremble quite a lot of the time. Having folded the sleeve up once, Hermann began to repeat the action, to make a second turn upwards, but as he did so, he revealed the colorful edge of Yamarashi on Newt’s skin, and froze. He looked at Newt, to see whether he should proceed.

“I’m not sure at this point that I’m one hundred percent happy with my body modification decisions,” Newt admitted. “But probably the deciding factor in how I choose to feel in the future is the fact that I’m stuck with them.” He smiled sheepishly.

His statement, while thoughtful, was not helpful to Hermann; he still did not know whether Newt was alright with his sleeves being rolled past the wrists. He carefully adjusted the cuff so that it showed nothing. Newt was still holding out his other hand, and so Hermann did the same with the other sleeve, his thumbs brushing the bones of Newt’s wrists as he rolled it up. Newt dropped his hands to his sides, and Hermann caught his breath.

 _And now_ , Hermann thought, _for the food_. But what type of meal would be appropriate, he wondered.

“What time is it?” he asked, not seeing a clock on the wall.

“It’s breakfast time, dude,” Newt said, making a beeline for the kitchen.

Hermann followed him, on the way catching sight of the clock on the stove. “It’s four-fifteen PM.”

“I said _it is_ _breakfast time_ , my dude,” Newt insisted, and took some eggs out of the refrigerator. “I’m cooking. You want on omelette?”

Hermann raised an eyebrow. “You know how to make omelettes?”

“Admittedly, I have not made one since 2014,” Newt said. “But I can’t imagine it’s changed much.”

“I don’t know, everything else seems to have,” Hermann said, looking at the notepad on the kitchen counter, which explained how to use the various tablets mounted around the apartment, as well as the five remote controls near the television, two of which were actually video game controllers.

But Hermann was happy to be proven wrong about Newt’s ability to make an omelette. He did need to provide the occasional verbal nudge to pay attention to what he was doing — a lecture about the secret to making the perfect omelette, delivered while facing Hermann and away from the stove, had to be cut short, lest the smoke alarm be triggered — but in the end Newt produced two irregularly-shaped but tasty specimens. He popped some bread into the toaster, plated the omelettes, then opened the fridge again. “Ooh. Hey Hermann, do you want orange juice...” Newt brandished a carton, then, with his other hand, revealed a bottle of champagne. “...Or do you want _mimosas!_ ”

Hermann thought on this a moment. “I suppose one wouldn’t hurt.”

Newt was not in the mood to search through the kitchen for possible champagne flutes; instead, he opened one cupboard, found a row of ordinary glasses, and took two. He poured them each what Hermann would politely describe as a “generous” mimosa, then sat down next to Hermann at the counter and began to shovel egg and cheese into his mouth. “Oh, wait, sorry,” he mumbled, then dropped his fork and held up his glass. “A toast, to us. And to the toast, which has real butter on it.”

“Indeed,” Hermann said, clinking his glass against Newt’s. Then the shoveling of food resumed.

Afterward, they both looked around at what was apparently their new home, and once again became paralyzed with bewilderment about what to do next. They agreed that it might be a good idea to turn on the television news and see what it was saying about the war being over, but when they tried, they could not seem to get any broadcasts, just streaming services, a movie library, and YouTube.

Newt wished to retreat into familiar pleasures, but he wasn’t sure if Hermann felt the same, so he ventured out slowly, suggesting that perhaps they could turn on their phones, and log into their emails.

Hermann was game for this verbal exchange; he shut down the idea immediately, launching into a litany of reasons why it was not safe. Someone might be tracking their phones, or monitoring their email activity. So far as they knew, no one outside of Eyebright Industries knew where they were, or could get to them, but that would all be over if they were incautious about using any technology that was already tied to their names. A rousing argument ensued, about the PPDC’s ability or even willingness to track them down, about Eyebright’s ability or willingness to protect them, and their own ability to flee again, if such a thing became necessary.

It was nice to be arguing again; they hadn’t done it much after they’d drifted. It felt a little different, though: each of them could feel a vague new presence in their minds, a little voice telling each of them that the other made good, perhaps even sensible points. This was new, and took the edge off the smug pettiness of their bickering, but still, all in all it felt both invigorating and relaxing, like getting a little fresh air, or stretching one’s legs after a long car ride.

It was January in Portland, which meant the sun had set and the sky was dark by five o’clock. The pitch darkness outside the floor-to-ceiling windows made them think they were arguing well into the night, but when they looked at a clock, they found it was only six.

Newt fiddled with the television until he found a service through which they could watch episodes of _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ , and made an interrogative noise at Hermann, gesturing at the screen. Hermann was amenable, and they watched three episodes in a row, before agreeing that they it was perhaps a good time to try going to bed.

It was the first time since Leatherback had attacked that Hermann had laid down to slowly fall asleep, rather than losing consciousness from exhaustion wherever he happened to be when his energy ran out; once he was tucked under the covers and lying in silent darkness, he felt that perhaps he’d forgotten how to fall asleep the normal way, especially in an unfamiliar place. This room, luxuriously spacious and elegantly lacking in clutter, felt cold and cavernous to him. The 36-inch television on the wall, though considerably smaller than the one in the living room, still seemed an enormous black void, from which any number of horrors might emerge.

Reading usually helped him fall asleep, so he got up and went into the living room to fetch his new tablet – one of two that had not been fastened to the wall to control the apartment’s functions. It had no books on it yet, but after some fiddling, he figured out how to purchase them, and chose a favorite from his youth, _The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time_. He had nearly finished it before finally nodding off.

Then he was in a gravel driveway, in the middle of the night. He was standing next to a car with its hatchback open and its interior lights on. A man approached, passing by him, carrying fishing poles and a tackle box. Perhaps it was early morning, then, rather than night.

Then he was in a boat on a foggy lake, the east discernible for its slightly more intense indigo light behind tall trees; with the shore not visible, the trees seemed to rise directly from the surface of the water. He swayed back and forth, and the man gently chided him not to rock the boat. On all sides rose monstrous shapes, murky but slowly coming into focus, a tangled frenzy of abyssal fragments.

Structures of bone and flesh towered over him at disturbing angles, and lakes of bio-slurry spread as far as the eye could see. Bestial snarls and screams rent the air as heaving sacs burst open to reveal sprawling, shambling alien chaos.

But another feeling churned inside him, diluting the fear but amplifying it at the same time. A slithering, seething feeling of joy and purpose. It was exhilarating, to be made to conquer and exterminate. _I belong here_ , he thought, and snapped awake.

Hermann looked at the clock. It was 4 AM. He had barely slept three hours, but he couldn’t see himself doing better than that for now. He could get out of bed, to get an early start, but honestly he didn’t want to face the day. He did sit up a little, to avoid nodding off and slipping back into his nightmare. He didn’t want to think about the nightmare at all, didn’t want to remember it, so instead he tried his best to remember the first part of the dream. Something about that part of the dream didn’t feel like it was just a random manifestation from his subconscious; he was sure it was a memory, one of Newt’s.

It had been not quite a week since their drift, and Hermann had hardly had a chance to be alone with his thoughts, to mull over all the new things in his head. He decided he would do that now, before the sun rose, while things were quiet. Hermann had never studied meditation techniques, but he had decades of practice at keeping figures and abstract concepts in his head, and following their intermingling to myriad conclusions. He took deep breaths, and thought of the fishing trip, and nudged at the edges of it until more memories emerged. Threads led from the fishing trip, through Newt’s uncle, through the feel of dead animals in his hands, through the reflections in the water. Hermann also journeyed through some abstract but specific emotions – once or twice, he cringed at something before realizing what he was cringing at: an embarrassing moment or stupid decision. Hermann also feared, then, that he might have memories of Newt’s...well, of Newt’s past intimate encounters, an idea he found uncomfortable. But there was nothing of this nature he could readily recall. Which didn’t mean Newt himself did not possess such memories, only that they had not made their way to Hermann.

But more than anything else, Hermann’s exploration of these new memories was pervaded by loneliness – not the same resigned solitude that Hermann had accepted in his life, that is, not the loneliness one can feel even when one has both their parents and several siblings. Though Hermann now possessed many memories of Newt’s father and uncle, he could not conjure up and image of Newt’s mother, and that was very telling. Unlike Hermann, Newt’s was an isolation born of abandonment, and also of an utter absence of age cohorts throughout one’s youth. Newt’s loneliness ached in a sharp, fresh way that Hermann’s had not done in a very long time. It was raw and constant.

Hermann felt so stupid for not having figured out such a simple thing about Newt, in all the time they’d known each other. While Hermann’s solitude was what had always made him feel safe, Newt’s solitude made him feel unsafe, and he’d struggled to remedy it at every turn. Hermann had assumed that because Newt was talkative and extroverted, that he couldn’t possibly be lonely. But in fact, all along he had been desperately reaching out for human contact – and, if his memories were anything to go by, he had not had much luck. Newt’s seeming ability to socialize effortlessly with Jaeger pilots, the LOCCENT crew, and the support staff? This was just desperate flailing in every direction, grasping for attention and approval. When he went out drinking with a crowd, it was because he had invited himself. When he plopped down at a table in the cafeteria and joined a conversation, he had been intruding. And he had known it. But he couldn’t help trying.

When Newt was being loud, he was lonely.

When Newt was being annoying, he was lonely.

When Newt was being smug, he was lonely.

How could Hermann have been so dense? And even more baffling, now that Hermann knew this: Why would Newt want to go on with him after the war, working with him, living with him, when Hermann had been so ignorant of this very simplest of Newt’s needs? There must be a reason, he thought, but before he could ponder it for very long, he heard a voice outside his window.


	7. Chapter 7

The colors were beautiful: a mosaic of flowing blues and indigos, shot through with tangles of searing oranges and yellows. If his band had ever ventured into prog rock, this would have been the perfect album cover. But it would have to have been on vinyl. Twelve-by-twelve would be the minimum canvas for a landscape this epic.

As these swirls and swaths began to take form and coalesce, Newt could discern chasms and spires, spearing the air at disturbing angles. Through this fractured abyss echoed chittering, squalling abominations. A heaving throng of skeletal shapes orbited horrific birthing chambers, which gave form to new, monstrous beasts. Newt opened his mouth to shout his shock, and heard only more squalling. He, too, was taking form, as one of those abominations.

Newt awoke sitting straight up and throwing the covers off. When he found himself in a strange, dark room, he continued to panic, until the events of the last day came back to him. He took several gasping breaths, before an urgent need to pee distracted him; he rolled out of bed and to the bathroom.

Afterward, washing his hands, Newt looked at himself in the mirror. He looked the same as he always had, and yet something made him pause and examine himself, as if with new eyes. He held out his hands, scanning up one arm, across his chest, and down the other, kaleidoscopic kaiju indelibly sprawled across his otherwise unremarkable body. He felt something indistinct but profound, not like a voice in his head, more like a mood: _pathetic_.

That was odd. Newt had never felt that way about himself before. But it was indisputable. _Why would anyone want to look at this_ , he thought. _Why would anyone want to touch this_. The longer he looked in the mirror, the stronger the feeling became. His skin began to crawl with this repugnance, a strange loathing of the self that was somehow also removed from himself, alien.

Newt shut the light off and walked out into the bedroom. He paced back and forth a few times, before deciding that there was not sufficient space to do so, and stalked out to the living room. He tried a little pacing there, but he needed to think out loud, and he knew if he did that, Hermann would come out to tell him to keep quiet. So Newt put his jacket and shoes on, and slid open the door to the patio.

“ _Buh buh buh_ okay,” Newt began, employing his usual thinking-out-loud verbal tics. “ _Whyyyy_ do I feel this way? _Whyyyy_ do I think I’m gross? I don’t think I’m gross. Other people can think I’m gross, that’s fine. If my tattoos were of flowers and rainbows, some people would still think they were tasteless. Okay, yeah, maybe I got a life lesson from Otachi in that bunker, but I’m like, I’m like, I’m like a P-51 Mustang with Messerschmitts stamped on me, okay? We won. These are trophies.  _Buh buh buh_ are you mad about it? Are you the Precursors, trying to mess with my head because you’re mad we won? Ha! _That’s_ what’s pathetic! _You’re_ the pathetic ones!”

Newt strode all along the edge of the patio, occasionally leaning over and spitting his words at the nearly-empty streets fifty stories below. He pictured Hermann, scolding him for being so close to the edge, even though there was a solid half-wall preventing any accidental plummet.

Then he thought some more about Hermann’s scolding.

“Is this Hermann? Did I just dig up one of Hermann’s thoughts about me? Is that what this is? Seems mean, _seeeeeeems_ mean, even for him. Rude, super rude.” Newt repeated his intrusive thought in a mocking tone, as more thoughts flowed through his brain: “Why would anybody _blah blah blah_ , why would anybody want you? _Nyah nyah_ , You’re gross and weird. You’re broken, you can never be a pilot, no one even thinks you’re a _person_ , they look at you and see a broken thing—oh shit. _Oh shit oh shit oh shit_.” Newt clutched his head with both hands, and began to walk in a tight circle. “I’m not thinking Hermann’s thoughts about _me_ , I’m thinking Hermann’s thoughts about _Hermann_.”

Did Hermann walk around with this level of self-loathing all the time? Just doing math, hating himself, programming operating systems, hating himself, snapping at Newt, hating himself? That sounded _exhausting_. Newt continued to walk around and try to think about this, until he heard the patio door slide shut.

“What are you doing out here? It’s the middle of the night!”

“Five in the morning is not the middle of the night,” Newt protested. “Anyway, what are _you_ doing out here, huh?”

Hermann looked down, fidgeting with his cane, before replying, “You know I’m an early riser. I heard a racket and came out to see what it was.”

Newt knew that Hermann was not _that_ early of an early riser, but did not call him on it. Hermann interrupting his soliloquy made him realize how cold it was outside, and how badly dressed he was for it.

For some reason, what came out of his mouth next was, “I’m hungry. But I don’t want to make anything. I’m too cranky to make anything, because I’m so hungry.”

Hermann put a hand on his arm. “I’ll make you something. Come inside, it’s freezing out here.”

Newt followed Hermann to the kitchen, where he perched himself on one of the stools at the counter and waited for food. Hermann flicked on the light over the stove, but not the overhead lights, thank God; Newt did not want the place to look like it was morning, like it was time to start the day and act like a normal person. Hermann assembled two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, sliced them each into four quarters, and placed one in front of Newt. They ate in silence; neither of them mentioned their dreams.


	8. Chapter 8

Though Hermann’s sleep had been delayed, cut short, and disturbed by a nightmare, it was still a damn sight better than any he’d gotten in weeks, and he was ready for a quietly productive day. His mission for the day was to learn every function of every gadget in the apartment, and he went about it methodically, making notes for himself about things to pursue more deeply later on, rather than allowing himself to be distracted by the temptation of a deep dive into any particular feature.

Newt set out to do the same, though he did not fare so well in the temptation department. In addition to mostly figuring out the BrightBuy tablet, Newt had made several impulsive purchases on it; he also taught himself to use any unfamiliar kitchen devices by cooking something with them, resulting in more food then either of them could eat that day, left cold on the counters.

Everything had some feature to learn about, even the sofa, which was adjustable in several ways. Hermann also mastered the lights, the bathroom fixtures, the mattresses, and the electrochromatic windows. By dinnertime, he knew how everything worked, and felt very accomplished about it.

Over dinner, Hermann ventured to ask Newt if he’d ever gone fishing.

“My uncle took me a few times,” Newt said. “We’d rent a boat and go out on the lake. Why do you ask?”

“Hm? No reason.” Hermann used both knife and fork to cut his chicken breast, while Newt just forcefully employed the edge of his fork.

“Did you dream one of my memories?” Newt asked. “Because I think I did that with you.”

Hermann waited until he’d finished his bite to reply. “Did you, now?”

Newt poked at his food a little, chin on his hand. “Kids were throwing rocks at me.”

“I’m sorry you had to experience that,” Hermann said, putting his knife down and keeping his eyes lowered.

“It’s okay,” Newt immediately corrected himself. “I mean, it’s not okay, it makes me really angry. Those kids were jerks. But I’d rather dream your memories than...” Newt cut himself off, like he was afraid of revealing something.

Hermann waited for Newt to finish his thought, and when he did not, said, “Please don’t feel that you should hide anything from me. I’m having nightmares as well.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Newt said, and the significance of that statement did not escape Hermann. Typically, Newt wanted to talk about everything, loudly and at length.

Hermann reassured him, “We don’t have to.” He changed the subject: “Tomorrow we should focus on what we want to tell Chris when he comes to visit on Thursday, about what research we’d like to do for Eyebright. But tonight I thought we could watch some more television together. Hm?”

This was something Newt could get behind. He’d been browsing the television all day, and while he had not actually viewed anything, he had already curated several watch lists. He described to Hermann many of the nature shows, sci-fi programs, documentaries, and cartoons he had found. Hermann found the prospect of sifting through all this content daunting, but at the same time, he figured it could probably be narrowed down based on what they were both interested in — Newt described four serial dramas that were all homages to the aesthetic of _Dark City_ alone, and Hermann doubted that all four were worth watching in their entirety.

After a few false starts — “adult” cartoons that were too crude, and comedies whose niche humor eluded them — they finally settled on a six-part documentary series about scientific discoveries in the Age of Enlightenment.

Each time they finished an episode, they looked to each other to see if they should watch another. Each time, they feigned a casual desire to continue, and before long it was 2 AM. At that point, Newt picked up the remote, paused the show, and said, “I gotta make a confession. I kind of wanted to go to bed two hours ago, but I’m afraid of going back to my room alone.”

Hermann’s pulse spiked. He, too, had been agreeing to stay slumped on the couch through episode after episode for this reason, and now he felt stupid for having kept that to himself. They had both confessed to having nightmares, after all. Why wouldn’t Newt be having the same problem as he was? And so now the question hung in the air: what was to be done about this? The sudden silence in the room as they contemplated this question became eerie.

“Well, I cannot sit on this sofa with you until we both nod off,” Hermann said, to start the discussion. “I’m too old; it will destroy my back.”

Newt nodded solemnly; falling asleep on the sofa had been his first thought, but he could see why it was less than ideal. Then another thought occurred: “Hey, I found this podcast today,” he said. “It started back during the early years of the war, so there’s a lot of episodes to catch up on.”

Hermann waited for the rest of the suggestion.

Newt picked up his tablet from the coffee table. “Do you want to go to bed and listen to it, like, together?”

Hermann gripped his knee, where his hand had been resting lightly on it. “You mean, in the same bed?”

“We have king size beds, I mean it’s not like we have to lie on top of each other to make it happen.”

Hermann’s stomach flipped over when Newt said this, but he did not let on. “I suppose you’re right.”

Newt led the way to his room. Hermann saw that on one side of the bed, the covers were slightly less askew, so he took that side. The moment he sat on the bed, he was careful not to look Newt in the face or make eye contact, as he found the idea of doing so while in Newt’s bed unbearably intimate, ten times more so than rolling up Newt’s sleeves had been.

Newt, on the other hand, was treating this situation with no gravitas whatsoever. He hopped into the bed and tapped at his tablet, as though this were a perfectly typical situation for two men in their thirties to share. But Hermann recalled those memories he’d gotten from Newt, the desperate loneliness, and also his insistence back at the Shatterdome that he was “resilient,” and determined that Newt probably preferred to think of this situation as “a slumber party” rather than “coping with PTSD.” Hermann did not consider this an acceptable long-term strategy, but he was reluctant to protest when Newt was getting settled in under the covers mere inches away from him.

“We’ll start with the first episode,” Newt said, placing the tablet between them. “I’m on episode three, but I totally don’t mind going back.”

Hermann was skeptical from the first sentence uttered. “‘...While we all pretend to sleep?’ Newton, is this a horror podcast? What a terrible thing to try to go to sleep by!”

He was ready to give Newt six reasons, with citations from past incidents, why his ideas about what might be soporific were not to be trusted, purely out of reflex, but Newt shushed him, and as the musical intro faded out, he paused the podcast.

“Ninety seconds,” Newt said. “It’s funny! I swear, in the first ninety seconds, you will understand what this podcast is about. Just listen that much. And the guy’s voice, I swear it’ll put you right to sleep, it’s so nice.” With this, he unpaused it, and by the end of the first episode, Hermann would have readily admitted that Newt was right – if he'd still been awake.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermann woke alone when the room was bathed in daylight. He took a moment to remember where he was, and that this was real; he hadn’t been dreaming of all these things around him, the complicated shower and the five remote controls, eating ice cream on the sofa with Newt and sharing a bed; it had all been real. He felt unbelievably well-rested. _This morning is better than yesterday morning_ , he thought. _And yesterday morning was better than the morning before that_.

Shuffling to the kitchen, Hermann passed by Newt drinking coffee and using the television to browse the internet. Hermann paused to stand behind the sofa and watch; Newt was investigating Eyebright. Hermann saw no dirty dishes, which indicated that Newt had not eaten, so he made a stack of buttered toast and jam and joined Newt on the sofa. They studied articles about Eyebright and its various subsidiaries, waiting for a terrible revelation about the company’s sinister aims or unethical practices, but found nothing of the sort. David Eyebright had built his father’s fortune to astronomical levels years ago, and now seemed determined to spend it all on bleeding-edge research and applied technologies. Limb regeneration, Pacific Gyre cleanup, eradication of malaria, vaccine delivery — Eyebright was pursuing it all, and more.

Eyebright’s projects were so varied, in fact, it actually made Newt and Hermann’s decision that much more difficult, as there seemed to be no limits to what they might get funded. But they at least had decided, between themselves, that they would indeed sign on with Eyebright, so they devoted the whole day to working up an outline to present when Chris arrived on Thursday.

First, they discussed the things they’d thought about during the war. Their lines of thinking, while specific to their respective fields, were similar: for the first several years of the war, they’d wished for a return to academia, to teaching; both of them felt that the best application of their skills would be to pass them on to promising students. But as the years had gone by (their conversation revealed), they became more committed to the idea that they would be involved in peacetime application of their wartime research, if for no other reason than that they feared that without their stewardship, such research would go astray: Jaeger tech co-opted by nations, rogue or otherwise, to pit humans against each other, for instance. Knowledge of kaiju anatomy and physiology could likewise be weaponized. So the responsibility of restricting access to these dangerous discoveries, they felt, fell at least partially to them and their expertise.

But after the drifting, after the peril they’d faced, and after the blessed end of it, the thought of kaiju and Jaegers, the very idea of returning to either of those wretched things, was exhausting to them. Their altruism had been obliterated in the face of their shared trauma. Let the world go to hell, if it meant they could finally have respite from anything to do with the war.

But then what else was there to do? It was difficult to think of anything either of them were interested in that would not involve, would not benefit from, what they had learned during the war. For instance, Hermann had once speculated that the Breach was not a trans-dimensional portal, but rather a wormhole, a gateway to another location in their own universe. And with the electromagnetic signature of the Breach thoroughly known, similar wormholes might be more easily detected in deep space. Hermann suggested this aloud to Newt as a possible avenue to pursue at Eyebright, but both were doubtful, not about its potential, but about its logistical implications; Hermann would likely have to station himself in Socorro, or Arecibo, in order to effectively carry out this research. He did not want to live in a remote compound anymore.

Meanwhile, Newt rattled off a long list of possibilities for himself, but all of them seemed so trivial, after what he had been studying for the past twelve years. Marine mammal communication? Neuroimmunology? Replenishing endangered or extinct animals through cloning?

Their mutual brainstorming session continued, on and off, through that day and into the next, until practically the moment Chris was due to arrive on Thursday. They had planned to write up a brief proposal, but they never got around to it. Though their ideas began as unrelated and often mutually-exclusive, the more they talked, the more their individual thinking-out-loud began to overlap, until they were discussing projects that involved both of their respective fields of study. It was not immediately apparent to them that they had only come up with a semblance of a project proposal after they’d landed on an area of research that would allow them to keep working together, despite their disparate fields. But even when it occurred to them, they did not mind, or find it incongruous in any way. Their working together had saved the world; that was reason enough to go on doing so, wasn’t it?

For dinner on Wednesday night, Newt fixed himself an enormous chicken salad. Hermann, who was not a fan of most vegetables, made a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. They sat at the dining room table and ate mostly in silence, having exhausted themselves with talking for the time being. Hermann looked across the table at Newt’s salad, which had no croutons on it, as Newt did not care for them. This reminded Hermann of all the times they had eaten meals together in the Shatterdome, and when they had dined together in cheap restaurants, on the rare occasions when they were required to travel. The quality of their meals had improved considerably since leaving Hong Kong, and in their new home they could always have exactly what they wanted to eat, no more and no less...but this left Hermann feeling that something was missing.

Newt noticed Hermann’s unfocused stare. “What’s up?” he asked.

“You don’t have any croutons,” Hermann said.

“There’s a whole box in the cupboard,” Newt said, shoving a forkful of iceberg lettuce (or as Hermann disdainfully referred to it, “crunchy water”) into his mouth. “You can go nuts. I know how much you love stabbing yourself in the mouth with sharp bread.”

Hermann looked briefly in the direction of the kitchen cupboards, then back at Newt’s salad. It wasn’t the same, eating croutons out of a box that he had opened for the express purpose. It was more rewarding, in an irrational way that he would never admit to, to be gifted the croutons off Newt’s salad, especially when they had just a dab of ranch dressing on them. In return for Newt’s croutons, and the mussels from mixed-seafood dishes, Hermann would always give Newt any broccoli, asparagus, or coleslaw that crossed his plate. This new living situation, where they fixed themselves whatever they wanted, meant there would be no casual exchange of unwanted food.

Hermann stirred his soup despondently. “We should go out to eat sometime soon,” he suggested. “Or at least order in once in a while.”


	10. Chapter 10

Chris knocked on the door in the mid-afternoon, and when Newt answered it, Chris complimented them on their much-improved appearance, remarking that they seemed much more comfortable and content, and he hoped that meant they were settling into the place.

The three men seated themselves at the dining room table, just as they had on Monday. This time, Chris tapped at his phone before setting it in the middle of the table. “So, do you have a proposal for Mister Eyebright?”

Newt and Hermann looked at the phone, then looked at each other. Hermann cleared his throat and folded his hands on the table. He chose to address Chris, instead of the phone. “We have decided that we would like to work together on neurostimulation devices and rehabilitation robotics for the treatment of neurodegenerative disorders.”

This was the last cool, calm, and collected sentence either of them uttered for the next forty minutes. Once Newt jumped in with a few more specific ideas, he and Hermann began to talk over each other, fighting to list all the things they had come up with that related to this field of study. Neuronal replacement by intracerebral neural implants. Delaying cognitive decline where possible; otherwise, equipping assistive devices. Wearable neuroprostheses. Exoskeletons. Make them smaller, make them more efficient, make them better at mapping, and most importantly, make a lot of them, and make them affordable! Life-changing assistive technologies needed to be consumer products, not one-of-a-kind showpieces squirreled away in labs!

Despite their earlier hesitance to delve into the application of wartime technology, about halfway through their pitch, they veered into lengthy speculation on how the PONS system could be utilized in most of these endeavors. Also, years ago, Hermann had written the operating system for the Mark I Jaegers; programming was not his greatest skill, but his experience could absolutely be applied to neuroprostheses.

When they finally ran out of steam, Newt and Hermann looked at Chris sheepishly, then down at the phone on the table. “Of course, we’ll need to put together a formal proposal,” Hermann admitted.

Chris lifted his phone, examined the screen for a moment, then said, “As far as Mister Eyebright is concerned, you just did, and he accepts. Congratulations.”

“But we don’t have the slightest idea what’s already going on in these fields of research,” Hermann protested. “We’ve been living under a rock for ten years. We didn’t even have time to keep up with the journals.”

This seemed not to be a problem at all. Chris said, “Of course Eyebright will bankroll your crash course in the latest civilian and military technologies. Mister Eyebright has just asked me to book a tour for you, which will include, let’s see…” Chris waited a moment, presumably for his phone to intercept further details, then he read off of it: “The Centre for Sensorimotor Neural Engineering at the University of Washington; the Center for Neural Engineering and Prostheses at UC Berkeley; Columbia University’s Movement Disorders Center; and The Interventional Neurology Center in Warsaw. He’s also going to see what kind of access he can get you to DARPA’s Neural Engineering System Design Project. That will take a while to coordinate, so in the meantime, we’ll send you some relevant publications.”

Chris stood up, sliding his phone into his inside jacket pocket. “You’ll receive a complete itinerary soon; all of that was just what Mister Eyebright could come up with off the top of his head. But I would estimate you’ll begin touring those facilities probably in late February. Oh, and I’ll set you up for a tour of Eyebright headquarters some time next week. While you’re there, you can sign your contracts. But in the meantime, please enjoy your sabbatical, and feel free to avail yourself of the car service or Hyperloop if you get a little cabin fever. Mister Eyebright only asks that for now you not travel outside the United States, or anywhere within the United States where you will not have cell reception.” He shook their hands, welcomed them to Eyebright, and left them with two packets detailing Eyebright’s compensation and benefits packages.

The moment the door was shut, Hermann breathed an enormous sigh of relief, tugging at his shirt beneath his sweater to unstick it from his skin where he had been perspiring. “I cannot believe we’ve still got the job, after that mess of a proposal.”

“It wasn’t a thesis defense,” Newt said. “Eyebright already wants us; we could have told him we wanted to do a YouTube series dedicated to cat video analysis and he would have thrown money at us.”

“Still,” Hermann said. He winced, and bent a little to rub his hip and thigh.

He continued to do this for the next hour, even as they ate dinner. When he stood up to put his dishes away, and grimaced at the pain it caused, Newt asked, “Your leg bothering you more than usual today?”

Hermann exhaled sharply through his nose, as he made his way to the kitchen. “I’m afraid so. It had actually been getting better the last couple of days; you know it’s worst when it’s cold, so things improved considerably when we came from the Shatterdome to this place. But I was so anxious about our proposal, and the whole time Chris was here, I was sure he must think we’re idiots, the way we fell all over ourselves trying to convey a coherent idea. All my muscles just locked up, the more I thought about it.”

“You know what you need,” Newt grinned and favored Hermann with a finger-guns gesture, “is the hot tub! I’ll bet that would help your leg.”

“The what?”

“The hot tub, dude. On the patio?”

“Good lord, I forgot we have a hot tub.” Hermann looked to the sliding glass door. “How am I supposed to keep track of all these new things? Oh, but doesn’t it take hours to get something like that ready?”

“Technically yes, but this morning I was thinking about the day we had ahead, and I felt this dread, like it was going to be hell on my leg, except why would it be hell on my leg, and then I realized that it was _you_. Not like, telepathically, but I think I have this instinct of yours now. So after lunch, while you were on the computer, I snuck out and got the hot tub all set up.”

Hermann stood there, cane shaking in his hand, looking ready to cry. “My god, Newton, that is the most wonderful, thoughtful thing you’ve ever done.”

In the bureau in his bedroom, Hermann found a pair of plain, navy blue swim trunks to change into. He took a towel from the stack in the closet, then remembered that it was cold outside, and slipped on his big fuzzy bathrobe as well. Catching sight of himself putting it on in the mirror, he thought about how there had been a time when he would have been mortified at the thought of even such a state of undress as “swimsuit” in front of others, but when he considered it now, he was not bothered. Perhaps swapping neurotransmissions with someone broke down the same personal barrier that being naked in front of them did.

Newt was not there when he got onto the patio, but the sunken hot tub was uncovered and bubbling, and the lights inside it were cycling through red, purple, and blue. Hermann dropped the bathrobe on a nearby chaise lounge. There was no good place to prop his cane, so he then held it up with one hand while he gripped the handrail with the other to step down, placing it behind himself at the edge of the tub when he was finally settled in.

Then, tilting his head back, Hermann did something he had not bothered to do in a long time: he looked up at the night sky. It was half-obscured by clouds, and even the clear parts were not particularly starry. This was not surprising – after all, they were in the city. But Hermann sighed wistfully nonetheless, and hoped that soon they might take a trip somewhere far from the light pollution of civilization.

Newt stepped onto the patio with a towel around his shoulders, a bottle of wine in one hand, and two glasses in the other. He shut off the interior lights and the patio light with his elbow, then slid the door shut with his foot. Hermann held out both hands to take the bottle and glasses from him before he got in. With his hands free, Newt made like he was going to take a running leap, and laughed when Hermann shouted, “Newton, no!”

“I got you!” Newt said, in a gleeful, sing-song voice. “You thought I was gonna do it!” He stepped down into the water in the conventional way, and sat right next to Hermann.

If Hermann was relieved to have access to a hot tub (purely for its physiological benefits, of course), Newt was positively giddy about it; the neck of the cabernet bottle clinked against the rim of the glasses repeatedly, as his hands shook with excitement while he poured. “I haven’t been in a hot tub in so long, dude. I love it. I love how it, like, loosens people up. Everybody’s inhibitions get a little lower, people are having a good time, saying stuff they feel like they can’t usually say.” He handed one glass to Hermann. “The moment you get in, it’s like you’ve already had two glasses of wine. I’ve had some of my best conversations just sitting in a hot tub, looking up at the stars and stuff.”

This did not enthuse Hermann. “Well, now that you’ve _asserted_ that, you’re going to make anything that is said sound forced.”

Newt rolled his eyes “Uh, no I’m not. Watch as I ask this completely natural-seeming question: Why are you _really_ anxious about working for Eyebright? I know your leg doesn’t hurt because we gave a sloppy proposal. What’s actually on your mind?”

Hermann looked down at his glass contemplatively, then slowly set it aside. He hoped to communicate to Newt that if this conversation was going to get serious, Newt had brought it on himself, and now was his last chance to backpedal out of it.

“I don’t know if we’ve made the correct choice,” Hermann said at last, “to work for Eyebright, or at least, to do what we’re going to do for Eyebright. It’s not that neurodegenerative treatment isn’t an important field, but don’t you worry that it might not be the _best_ thing that you and I could be doing?”

“Nah,” Newt dismissed all this instantly, to Hermann’s surprise. “You’re letting that stuff we’ve been told by Eyebright and his people psych you out.” Newt waved his arms mockingly, “Ooh, we’re geniuses, we’re the greatest minds of our generation, oh, we’re sooo valuable. Um, we’re also people, and we have already done a _lot_. What we’re gonna be doing for Eyebright is amazing, but even if it’s not the ‘best’ thing we could do, that’s nobody’s business but ours. Hell, if we decided to chuck it all and join an _avant garde_ puppeteering troupe, that would be no one’s business but ours.”

Halfway through Newt’s tirade, Hermann suddenly found himself distracted by the realization that he now knew more or less where Newt’s tattoos ended. He had known for a long time that they covered his arms, front, and back – only because over the years, Newt had removed his shirt several times when others had asked about them, to show them off. Hermann had always shielded his gaze from these displays and made a disgusted noise, as much at Newt’s shameless exhibitionism as about his poor choice of artistic subject matter. But at least, in all that time, Newt had limited the clothing removal to his shirt. Now, though, Hermann was seeing his bare legs, untouched by ink, and could also see, just below the surface of the water, the point at his hips where the tattoos ended, save for a few curls of color that dipped a little lower.

Hermann snapped to attention after his eye had wandered, reassuring himself that in actuality, he must have only been distracted for one second past when Newt had stopped talking, and collected himself enough to continue the conversation: “You don’t believe that we will always have a responsibility to apply our skills in the most useful way possible?”

If Newt had noticed Hermann’s gawping, he did not mention it, thank goodness. “Do I think we have an obligation? No. Do I want to anyway? Yes. But toiling in misery is an not an essential component of that! You think you’re allergic to being happy and doing what you feel like doing, but I can assure you that your reaction is purely psychosomatic. For once in your life, do the work that interests you. All you’ve known is suffering and stress and isolation. Don’t think you have to bring burdens on yourself just because no one’s providing you with them.”

“That’s not fair,” Hermann snapped, stabbing at the air with an accusatory finger. “I may have complained a little here and there—” he ignored Newt’s snickering – “but to say I’ve done nothing but suffer is to do a disservice to the only organization that gave us what we needed to close the Breach. I’m no martyr, and well I should not be. I have always had a bed to sleep in, and food to eat, which is more than many others can say. All my life, while I was doing important work, my needs were met. Well...” Hermann’s mouth twisted as he contemplated this for a moment, thought about something that had been on his mind lately, but then he confirmed, “No– yes, all my _needs_ were met. Yes.”

Newt did not miss this. He tilted, to put himself in Hermann’s field of vision, compelling him to accept eye contact, then said, “Hermann, is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Hermann opened his mouth, then closed it, then whimpered, actually whimpered a little, with the frustration of holding in the way he felt. With darkness all around them, and the rumbling of the hot tub drowning out the few competing ambient noises, it was easy to feel like they were the only two people in the world, to feel that it was safe to say things.

Hermann shifted and cleared his throat. He looked up and away from Newt as he blurted out a confession that he, maddeningly, had not had a chance to prepare in advance, as he had not anticipated that this conversation would happen so soon. “You know that I have always put my work before any…personal entanglements,” he said, “And I don’t regret that. The work was too important. But since the drift, I’ve begun to feel increasingly, ah…increasingly attracted to you, and it’s, hm, it’s very frustrating for me because, well, I don’t have a lot of practice dealing with these sorts of feelings, and so I don’t know if I really, truly feel a...a…” He made a sort of back-and-forth gesture between himself and Newt. “A romantic attraction, or if I’m merely misinterpreting the new connection that we have because of the drift, which is perhaps being reinforced by our being in close quarters together with no one else around.”

Newt laughed, and Hermann wished to die, right then and there. Newt suggested, “You want to find an IHOP, hang out and meet some people, see if you still feel the same way about me?”

Hermann clenched his fists. “Please don’t mock me,” he said, through gritted teeth. “You asked me a question, and I answered it.”

“No no no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Newt scooted closer to Hermann, and put a hand on his arm, “But listen, buddy, I’ve got news for you: I like you, too. And yeah, maybe the reason I like you is because we had our brains scrambled together, but that’s no reason to fight it, or reject it. Should we really deny ourselves a, you know, a romantic thing, just because what put us on that path was a little unconventional? I mean, I don’t know if you know this, but we’re weirdos. Even before the drift, we were, like, a couple of weird-ass people. It is far, far too late for us to fret about whether the feelings we have fall within normie parameters. We are gonna have to figure this out together. No, wait, we _get_ to, it is our _privilege_ to figure this out together.”

“I suppose you make a good point,” Hermann said. “So, how do we do that?”

“I mean, we can just do some stuff, and see how you like it. Like, I could do this.” Newt put an arm around Hermann, and placed his other hand on Hermann’s knee. “How do you feel about this?”

Hermann squirmed, reflexively putting his hand over his face, to hide how deeply he was blushing. However, he did nod his approval.

Newt squeezed Hermann’s shoulder. “Alright, see how easy that was? Okay, so the next step is sex. I’m _kidding_! I’m kidding, geez.” He moved his other hand to Hermann’s chest, to calm him down after he’d nearly leapt from his skin at Newt’s joke. “Let’s just do this for a while.”

Hermann nodded again.

Newt, being a little shorter than Hermann, had to lift himself up and bend one leg under himself, to give himself the boost he needed to keep his arm comfortably around Hermann’s shoulders. Once he’d done this, Hermann could lean into him a little, resting his head on Newt’s chest.

They settled into what should have been a comfortable silence, except they were both so excited about what was happening, they could not relax enough to fully enjoy it. Unsurprisingly, Newt, whose solution to any problem was to talk more, broke the silence by asking, “So do you always like to cuddle?”

Hermann sat a little more upright to answer. “I don’t, ah, that is...I haven’t really...”

Newt gave him a little pat on the back, to reassure him that he need not go on. “It’s fine. We’ll get everything figured out. Hey, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting kinda pruney. You want to get out?”

Hermann’s face fell; he’d barely had the chance to have this moment with Newt, and it was over so soon.

But then Newt said, casually, “Let’s get showered up and meet in my room. Unless you want to meet in your room…?”

Just like that, Newt had…made an invitation. He didn’t want this to be over either. He wanted to continue. In a bedroom.

“My room is, ah, would be good, I suppose,” Hermann stammered.

Twenty minutes later, Newt knocked on Hermann’s half-open door, and found him sitting at the edge of his bed, in his pajamas, hands clutching his knees.

“Hey,” Newt said, with a little smile.

“Hello,” Hermann said, fidgeting.

“Please don’t be nervous. This is going to be fun! Here.” Newt circled around to the far side of the bed, and pulled the neatly-tucked covers back. “Get in with me. We’re gonna do something I read about in a book once.”

Hermann was so grateful for the opportunity to gently ridicule Newt; it made things feel more normal: “Was it an actual book,” he asked, “or was it a manga?”

“Uh, first of all, I don’t feel that’s truly important, second of all, yes, it was an ‘actual’ book.” Newt put one knee on the mattress. “Now, do you want to be the big spoon or the little spoon?”

“The what?”

“Congratulations, you’ve just been designated the little spoon. Lay down here.” Newt got under the covers, situated himself on his right side, and indicated the space in front of him. Hermann got into the bed where he was directed, lying on his back and pulling the covers up under his armpits.

Newt laughed, and gently nudged Hermann so he lay on his side too, facing away from Newt. “Now, I’m gonna come up like this.” He tucked himself up behind Hermann, just until his belly touched the small of Hermann’s back. Then he slipped an arm around Hermann’s chest. Hermann gasped, but hoped that with the shifting of the sheets, Newt had not heard. “Okay,” Newt said, “first of all, just so you know, I might get hard in the middle of the night. Please don’t freak out. We don’t have to do anything about it. I can have a boner and just deal with it, like an adult. In the meantime, this is all you have to do: you feel me breathing?”

At first, Hermann thought this was a trick question, or at the least, a more complicated question than it actually was. But after Newt’s chest rose and fell against his back a few times, he said, “Yes…?”

“Just try and breathe at the same time I do. And I’m gonna try to breathe at the same time you do. We’re both gonna focus on that, and not worry about anything else.”

Hermann nodded a little. “I think I can do that.” As he said this, though, all he was actually certain he was capable of doing was thinking to himself, over and over, _Newt’s body is touching mine, Newt’s body is touching mine_.

Newt took advantage of the automated systems in the room by saying aloud, “Turn out the lights.” The room was plunged into darkness, and Newt dropped his head and snuggled even closer to Hermann, nosing at the nape of his neck, softly breathing on his skin.

Hermann stared straight ahead, wide awake and tense. He was sure that any benefit the hot tub had provided, relieving his muscles and lowering his blood pressure, must have been obliterated by Newt’s warm, soft body pressing up against his in the dark. But as the minutes passed, and as Hermann made a monumental effort to follow Newt’s instructions and focus on the synchronization of their breathing, he slowly began to calm down, and to feel…nice. Comfortable. To his utter surprise, he began to get used to the safe, cozy feeling of snuggling. Which made sense; after all, he’d resolutely adapted to every discomfort he’d had to deal with in his life. And so, he was confident that he could grow accustomed to the new good things in his life, from the sensual delight of a fluffy clean bathrobe to the sweet, warm thrill of being wrapped in Newt’s arms.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about someone having a panic attack. Feel free to skip it if you're not into reading about that kind of thing; it contains no other pertinent plot points...although the last paragraph has some nice fluff. :)

After that night, bedtime became something that Hermann and Newt actually looked forward to. They were now highly motivated to maintain a regular sleep cycle, so that they could continue to go to bed at the same time, fall asleep together, and wake up together. The lure of a friendly bedmate and sleepy cuddles quickly came to outweigh the uncertain dread of nightmares that had colored their existence since the drift.

This did not, however, mean that the nightmares stopped. The torment of the Anteverse in their minds did lessen, and the nightmares became less frequent, but Hermann and Newt understood that they would likely never be completely free of their experience.

In the middle of the night, Newt was shaken awake by Hermann’s clumsily urgent hands. “Newton, wake up,” Hermann rasped, even after Newt was already sitting upright.

“I’m awake, man. Did you have another nightmare?”

Hermann was gasping, “I—yes, I was. But that’s not—I think we need to call an ambulance. I’m having a heart attack.”

Newt ordered the lights on, and saw that Hermann was pressing hard on his own chest. “Do you feel shooting pains down your left arm? Does your shoulder or your jaw hurt?”

“What? No, I feel pain in my _chest_.” Hermann pushed harder on his own sternum, like he was trying to crush his chest in.

“Does it feel better when you do that?” Newt asked, and imitated what Hermann was doing.

Hermann grunted. “A little...? Newton, please, where’s the phone, I feel like I’m going to die.”

“Okay, shh,” Newt held Hermann’s face in his hands and looked him in the eye. “I don’t think you’re having a heart attack. I think you’re having a panic attack.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I had one yesterday afternoon, and it sounds exactly like what’s happening to you right now.”

“You had a panic attack and didn’t tell me!” Hermann was wheezing now.

“I didn’t want to worry you! See, knowing is making this worse now! Okay listen, you need to take deep breaths.” Newt breathed in dramatically, and tapped Hermann on the arm to prompt him to follow. Then he breathed out, making a show of emptying his lungs completely. They breathed together several times, then Newt said, “Now keep doing that, and listen to me. I think we’re having panic attacks because we worked non-stop for ten years, and even though we know up here,” he tapped his head, “that the war is over, our bodies feel like we should still be at war.”

“But we did leave too soon,” Hermann whined. “We left everyone behind in that Shatterdome, and there was still so much to do.”

“Shut your stupid mouth, Hermann, you’re making it worse again! Now, I want you to—here, drink some water, first of all.” Newt snatched up a half-empty bottle from the nightstand and gave it to Hermann. While he took a long pull, Newt said, “Now I want you to repeat after me, because we’re gonna do a thing and it’s gonna calm you down, alright? Say ‘I won the war.’”

“Newton, lots of people died, they gave so much more.”

“Say ‘I won the war.’”

Hermann closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. “I won the war.”

“I did my share, and now I get to be happy.”

“I did my share,” Hermann repeated, “and now I get to be happy.”

“Say it again.”

As Hermann repeated this clunky mantra, Newt guided him to lie back down on the bed. “I earned being happy,” he said, and Hermann repeated that too.

“I earned being happy,” Newt said, as Hermann settled against the pillows.

“I earned being happy,” Hermann said again. He continued to repeat this, while Newt smoothed his damp hair back and kissed his sweaty forehead. “I earned being happy,” he whispered, and Newt placed another kiss on Hermann’s cheek.

“I earned being happy,” Newt encouraged him, but prevented him from saying it again by giving him a brief, chaste kiss on the mouth. “Deep breaths, now. Don’t you think it’s funny, that we never had any panic attacks _during_ the war? Only after?”

“I don’t know about you,” Hermann said, “but I simply did not have the _time_ to have panic attacks. There was too much to be done.”

“And now we’re rewarded with a one-way ticket to dream jobs and a penthouse, where we can enjoy all the benefits of fully-automated luxury panic attacks.”

Hermann wheezed again, but this time it seemed almost like a laugh. Newt wanted very badly to make Hermann laugh, to make him feel better that way and break the tension, so he thought fast and said, “Hey Hermann. Do you remember that time we had a really big fight about whether or not it would be a threat to global security if kaiju blue could be commodified within the pharmaceutical industry, and you got the hiccups in the middle of it, but you were still trying to argue _very seriously_ with me through the hiccups, and I laughed so hard at you that I almost threw up?”

“Newton, do not try to make me laugh right now,” Hermann said, but he was turning his head away, clearly fighting off a smile, and Newt grinned and squeezed Hermann tight.

They held each other until the morning; neither of them managed to fall back asleep, but Hermann’s eyes closed, and his breathing slowed, and the pressure in his chest subsided, beneath where Newt’s hand covered his.

Over breakfast, Hermann said, “Once we get settled in and have a work schedule, we should perhaps see about some therapy. Two traumatized people should not rely solely on each other for support.”

Newt made a dubious noise, and Hermann understood what he was trying to convey: Newt had never liked outsiders barging into his life, people who didn’t understand how his mind worked. Hermann stood by his own assertion, but this was an argument they could have another time. For now, he wished to sit here at the table, with Newt across from him, bathed in morning light, enjoying a nice meal. Having finished all of his own bacon, Newt speared a piece off of Hermann’s plate, saying “Too slow!” before quickly shoving the entire strip into his mouth. Hermann had to smile at this, just a little, if for no other reason than that he’d cooked an extra piece for his own plate in anticipation of this very stunt.


	12. Chapter 12

Truly settling in, unreservedly enjoying their sabbatical, continued to be a challenge. Days went by, and still they would both be overcome by these occasional moments of panic, as their bodies tried to convince them that this was no time to relax, that there was so much to be done. For the most part, it would strike one of them at a time, and the other could coach them through the breathing exercises, and sometimes a calming visualization. On the occasions when both were overcome at once, it took them a much longer time to focus on getting through the episode, with simply flailing and pacing until they wore themselves out the most likely scenario.

Most of the time, however, they could unwind enough to read, or to sit through a movie, and though they never spoke of this aloud, they had a tendency to choose the same thing at the same time. If one wanted to read, the other just happened to want to do the same, and asked to join them on the couch or bed, and even though each of them had a bedroom and an entertainment system to themselves, more often than not, they ended up shuffling through menu after menu on the streaming services, until they found a film or program that they both wanted to watch.

During one of these overlong journeys through the lists of available films, Hermann stumbled across _Primer_. “Oh, I remember this one,” he said. “It came out when I was fifteen, I think, or sixteen. I adored it.”

“I don’t think I saw that one,” Newt said. “What’s it about?”

Hermann replied, “Some men who build a time machine.”

Newt thought that any movie about time travel that would have enthralled a fifteen-year-old boy must have been good, so he agreed to that one. By the twenty-five minute mark, however, he was dying of boredom. It came back to him then why he’d never bothered to see this film: because every review had called it a “thoughtful” and “meditative” work of independent cinema. Translation: BORING.

“Does anything actually happen in this movie?” Newt whined.

“Hush. I think it’s fascinating,” Hermann said. “This is about as realistic a portrayal of time travel as one could reasonably hope for; certainly it’s the most realistic that anyone’s ever filmed.”

“I’ll tell you what, this movie’s gonna make _me_ time travel; I’m gonna fall asleep and wake up two hours in the future.”

“You don’t have to watch it,” Hermann said, his eyes resolutely fixed on the screen.

This was perfectly true, but the idea of leaving Hermann’s side was also currently outside Newt’s area of interest. Thankfully, being someone who was easily bored, Newt was an expert at making his own fun. He turned his attention away from the television and focused instead on the soft patch of skin behind Hermann’s left ear. When he ducked in to favor it with a touch of his lips, Hermann shrugged his shoulder and said “Just because you don’t want to watch the film doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

Newt let Hermann push him away, then giggled and dove back in, laying wetter, noisier kisses along Hermann’s neck and across his jaw.

This time, Hermann did nothing, but whispered, “Newton, stop your nonsense. You’re being very distracting.”

Newt reached down and placed one hand on Hermann’s knee, rubbing in little circles and slowly making his way higher. With his other hand, he played with Hermann’s hair, rubbing over the back of his neck where it was close-cropped.

“Take your hands off me this instant,” Hermann snarled softly. He kept on like that, protesting as Newt slipped a hand under his t-shirt to caress the warm, smooth skin of his belly and chest. Never once, however, did Hermann lift a finger to stop Newt, or to squirm away in the slightest.

Newt hooked one finger into Hermann’s collar and tugged it down, so that he might kiss and lick at the notch between his collarbones. Hermann grunted with disapproval, but his protests were becoming less articulate, and less frequent. Newt breathed on Hermann’s skin, pressed his nose to Hermann’s neck and inhaled his scent, while his other hand traveled down, out from beneath his shirt, to cup and gently rub Hermann’s prick through his pajamas.

Hermann whimpered, “Newton, I’m trying to watch the...” but the next noise out of his mouth was just a little “ _Hmnh_...” Newt slid his hand up and down the shaft of Hermann’s cock, which was firming up under his pajamas. Newt rubbed at the tip with his fingers, until he felt a wet spot in the fabric. Hearing absolutely no protests from Hermann, he slid down off the sofa and onto the floor. He scooted over to kneel between Hermann’s legs, then lifted the hem of Hermann’s shirt to plant kisses on his belly.

Hermann didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, now. His first instinct was to place them affectionately on Newt’s arms where they rested on either side of Hermann’s thighs, but he apparently decided that this was too cooperative, so he removed them and folded them over his chest. Newt was not discouraged in the least; he tugged Hermann’s pajama bottoms down, until his stiff prick sprang free. This was the first time Newt has seen it, and he could feel Hermann’s eyes on him, anxious about what he thought of it. Newt held still for a moment, so he could watch Hermann’s prick throb with each beat of his heart, the tip just peeking out of the foreskin. Then he gave it a few tugs, pushing the foreskin up over the wet, pink glans, then gently back down, until a tiny burst of fluid spilled out. When Newt tilted forward and slipped the head into his mouth, Hermann flung his arms out with a moan, to grasp the cushions on either side of him.

Newt had a little bit of experience doing this sort of thing; he’d certainly read a lot about how to do it well, even if he hadn’t had a multitude of opportunities to apply all of this acquired knowledge. In any event, the reactions he’d gotten in the past to his technique paled in comparison to Hermann, who squirmed and gasped, his hands flailing, clutching at nothing while he whined and dug his heels into the carpet. Newt wondered if perhaps this was the first time Hermann had had this done to him.

In case it was, he decided to go a little slower; while he desperately desired the smug satisfaction that giving Hermann an orgasm would bring, he repeated to himself, in his head, that drawing it out first would make it all the better, and so did his best to proceed accordingly, taking deep breaths through his nose while he nursed at the cock in his mouth, humming to express his enjoyment of the act, of Hermann’s smell and taste. He let his saliva flow freely down Hermann’s shaft, so that as he sucked, it made wet sounds, and this seemed to embarrass Hermann further, to Newt’s delight. Newt’s own cock was rock-hard by now, and he took the edge off the ache in his shaft and balls by rubbing himself just a little with his free hand.

He’d thought that eventually he would speed up, work Hermann’s shaft with his hand a little when the time felt right to finish him off, but Hermann was apparently more affected even by what Newt considered preliminary teasing than Newt had expected, particularly when Newt worked the head slowly around and around on his tongue. He whispered urgently, “I’m going to... _mmh_...in your, _hah_ , in your mouth...”

Newt did not want to disengage long enough to verbally acknowledge or approve of this, so he just gave a thumbs-up and took Hermann as deeply into his mouth as he could. Hermann uttered a beautiful, animalistic cry as he climaxed, and Newt’s mouth was briefly filled with bitter saltiness, which he quickly swallowed down, though he opened his mouth again after doing so, showing Hermann the last pulse of come pooling on his tongue. Then he continued sucking, just a little more, even after Hermann had finished, just to hear his cries of oversensitized shock.

Newt retreated as Hermann’s prick softened, and he sat back on his heels to check Hermann out. Just as he’d hoped, Hermann was slumped in exhausted bewilderment, flushed and glowing, his hair mussed from tipping his head back against the sofa as he’d thrashed.

There was also, however, a look of mild concern clouding his expression. “I feel I should return the favor,” Hermann said, “but I don’t, ah, I’ve never...”

Newt clambered up into Hermann’s lap, panting, “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m so close to coming right now. Just let me, uhhh, just let me fucking come on you. Just let me—” Newt grabbed Hermann’s shoulder with one hand and pulled his hard cock out of his pajamas with the other, jerking himself off in a matter of seconds onto Hermann’s t-shirt.

“Sorry,” he gasped. “I was just...sucking you off made me so hot, and then thinking about coming on your clothes and making a mess of you...” Newt shuddered and squeezed his cock one last time, and a final dribble oozed from the tip. “Ah, god.”

Collecting himself slightly, Newt twisted around to look at the television. He turned back, indicated the screen with a jerk of his thumb, and said, “So did you want to finish watching the movie, or...?”

Hermann laughed – he finally, really _laughed_ , utterly disarmed and unrestrained. Little crushes of soft wrinkles appeared around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. Newt was ecstatic: a laugh from Hermann was a sight so rarely seen that even after ten years of knowing him, it was a thrill. That was how Newt truly knew that he’d done a good job.


	13. Chapter 13

And so, while waiting for their project with Eyebright to get underway, Newt and Hermann found another, equally engaging project: learning about each other’s bodies.

With their free time and solitude, they chased every curiosity, and relished every new discovery about the other: the cowlick in Hermann’s pubic hair, that Newt would pet idly while they were lolling in bed after having made each other come; the way Newt would shudder and flex in a particular way when Hermann sucked on his nipples while jerking him off; the flush that bloomed on Hermann’s skin as they rubbed against each other, and Hermann’s lament that Newt’s tattoos prevented him from seeing a comparable reaction.

For Hermann in particular, the novelty was enthralling; sexual pleasure for him had always been a brief, functional affair, the sole object of which was to release some tension, usually in the shower. The idea that one could linger in one’s pleasure, and that one could share it, was a concept known to Hermann but not previously experienced.

Perhaps due to this inexperience, Hermann was not as verbally forthcoming as Newt about what he liked and didn’t like, and so Newt had to learn to pay attention to other cues. He did not shy away from this challenge in the least, however, and found it that much more satisfying when he was able to tell, by the particular way that Hermann grunted, or by the way his toes were spread out, that he was having a really good time, letting go of his inhibitions and allowing himself to give in to naughty abandon.

The first time Hermann took Newt’s prick into his soft, wide mouth, Newt had to fight to keep from blowing his load instantly. The sight of it was so intensely erotic that even when he closed his eyes, the image of his shaft sliding between Hermann’s lips played on a loop in his mind, and after only a minute or two, Newt was already shouting at Hermann that it was just about time to start swallowing. Once he determined that he was past the point of no return anyway, he feasted his eyes on Hermann carefully suckling on his very first cock, eyes shut in concentration, grunting a little when his mouth was filled with Newt’s load.

Their scheduled tour of Eyebright headquarters, which would otherwise have been a dull affair, was spiced up considerably whenever Newt and Hermann made eye contact behind Chris’ back as he showed them around the facility. Every time they locked eyes, each could tell that the other was thinking _, Since the last time this guy talked to us, we started putting each other’s penises in our mouths. Do you think he can tell?_ However, the instant Newt giggled audibly, Hermann shook his head and acted annoyed, to shush him.

As with any team project, check-ins and progress reports were essential, and Newt in particular was very communicative. “I want to make you come, like, a lot,” he said one day, by way of issuing a mission statement. “All the time. Every time you look at me, I want you to think, _There’s the guy that gives me all those orgasms_.” The moment he said this aloud, however, he buried his face in his hands, lamenting, “Oh God, that sounds stupid.”

Hermann smiled gently. “Not at all.”

“Okay, but I’m kind of not joking? I kind of want it to be my job? I want to say, ‘I have two jobs. First, I am a research scientist for Eyebright, and second, I service Hermann Gottlieb sexually. Whatever he needs, I’m on it. On call twenty-four hours a day.’ I mean, I don’t even know yet if you’re a top or a bottom, like we haven’t discussed that yet, but it doesn’t matter to me at this point. I’m game. Just get ready to have your cock worshipped, like, all the time.”

Hearing this, Hermann’s smile disappeared, and his eyes darted back and forth.

Newt raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

Hermann shrugged. “ _I_ don’t know if I’m a top or a bottom,” he admitted.

Newt’s eyes got wide, and he clasped his hands together in glee. There was so much more adventure still to be had!

***

First, Newt needed to figure out what was physically comfortable for Hermann. Newt himself, these days, would occasionally feel a hesitance to take a particular stance, or to roll out of bed in a particular way, and eventually he’d realized that this was Hermann, in his mind. So he had a few vague ideas about what was unpleasant for him. But now was the time to make this knowledge encyclopedic, so that they might proceed with a minimum number of mishaps. He asked Hermann to show him whether and for how long it was comfortable to stand without his cane if he could brace himself on a solid surface (that is, whether he could plow Newt from behind while Newt was bent over something), or under what circumstances kneeling was comfortable (also useful for plowing Newt), or if he could brace himself on hands and knees and roll his pelvis (again, for the plowing). Hermann showed Newt his range of comfortable sustained motion, and from this, Newt composed a repertoire of considerable variety.

The funny thing was, though, that when the time came, when Newt walked into Hermann’s bedroom, and found Hermann undressed and sitting up in bed, under the covers, patiently waiting for him, Newt forgot all about all the experimenting with positions, and just came over and sat himself in Hermann’s lap. Hermann instinctively put his hands on Newt’s waist, and the decision was finalized.

Newt set the lube he’d brought aside, on the nightstand, and allowed an awed Hermann to wrap shaking arms around him. “This is good, right?” Newt asked. “We can do it like this?”

“I think so. I won’t be able to, er, plow you like this. That seemed important to you.”

“Nah. I mean yes, but I can ride you, that’s great, too.”

Only then did they realize that, while Newt was seated like this, the enormous kaiju tattooed across his chest was staring Hermann right in the face. Neither of them had fully come to terms with his tattoos, post-drift; sometimes they fooled around with the lights off, to avoid the particular kind of confrontation Hermann was facing now: two beady eyes personifying the ugly memories in his subconscious.

“Should I maybe put a shirt on?” Newt asked.

Hermann shook his head. “I just won’t look at them. I’ll look at your face instead.” He looked up at Newt and smiled.

Newt smiled back. “You sure that won’t be worse?”

“Oh, stop.”

Newt spread his legs and tilted his pelvis a little, so their cocks could rub together in a familiar way. Hermann hummed and leaned back against the pile of pillows behind him.

“You wanna get me ready?” Newt asked.

“You’ll have to show me how.”

Newt got up on his knees, taking his weight off Hermann. He grabbed Hermann’s right hand, holding it in both his own. He gently manipulated Hermann’s fingers so that only the first two were extended. Then he picked up the bottle of lube, and squeezed a generous amount onto the tips of those two fingers. Holding Hermann’s wrist, Newt guided his hand beneath his cock and balls, careful not to brush it against his thighs and smear the lube. When he was close to his target, Newt guided just Hermann’s fingers, bending them. “Right there, you feel that?”

When Hermann brushed against Newt’s hole, and realized what he was touching, he flinched. “Oh,” he said.

“It’s alright. That’s it, you can feel it. Then you’ll know where to push.”

Hermann poked tentatively, as if doubting it could be as simple as that. “I just push?”

“Yeah, come on,” Newt said, “you can just slide that bad boy all the way in. It feels good.”

Hermann did as he was told, though he seemed terrified that he would hurt Newt or do it wrong. Newt reassured him with a long moan of relief when he finally had something up inside him.

“Does it really feel good?” Hermann asked.

“It feels amazing. How does it feel for you?”

Hermann was not expecting such a question to be directed at him, not right now. He thought about it for a second. “You’re so hot inside,” he said. “And you’re squeezing me like a vise.”

“It’s good though, right?”

“Yes.”

“You can put another one in. I’m gonna touch myself, okay? It makes it easier.”

Hermann was distracted for a moment or two by Newt stroking himself, but with a little vocal cue, he came back to himself and wiggled a second finger inside. “It’s so tight,” he whispered. “You’re so tight. How am I going to fit, er, fit anything else in there?”

“You massage it to loosen it up,” Newt said. “It’s like any other muscle. Like me doing this.” Newt put his free hand on Hermann’s shoulder and began to rub it. Hermann groaned with delight. Newt instructed, “Do it with the same rhythm I’m using.” Hermann pushed and pressed with his fingers in a manner not entirely dissimilar to what Newt was doing to him.

The first time Hermann rubbed against Newt’s prostate, it was accidental, and the noise Newt made was so intense, Hermann froze with fear. But Newt begged him, “Do it again, push right there.” Hermann noticed that Newt was stroking himself faster; clear fluid was trickling steadily out from the tip, landing warm on Hermann’s belly.

“Okay, here we go, I gotta have it now.” Newt grabbed the lube, scooted backwards, and slathered Hermann’s prick with it, panting, “Are you ready?” as he was already sinking down onto it. The squeeze of his muscles around Hermann’s glans was so wonderfully strange, the pressure so intense but smooth. “Oh god,” Newt said, “this is it, we’re doing it now.”

Hermann was mesmerized by the way Newt squirmed in his lap, by the sight of Newt’s hard cock bobbing up and down as he rode. Hermann clasped Newt’s waist, watching intently as Newt got more and more comfortable with Hermann’s prick inside him. Hermann’s hands traveled all up and down Newt’s body, feeling where his flesh was soft and squeezable, and where his muscles flexed hard as he rode.

That was when Hermann noticed something he never had never before. Just above his tattoos, spread lightly across his collarbones, Newt had freckles, adorable little freckles, that all his ink had covered up in the other places where Hermann might have cared to look. He was familiar with the few on Newt’s forehead and cheeks, but he’d had no idea he had them all over.

Meanwhile, Newt leaned back, planting his hands on either side of Hermann’s knees, and immediately got louder. “Aw, yeah, that’s where it is,” he shouted. “That good for you?”

Hermann was indeed gripped by a new rush of desire, watching Newt’s back arch and his thighs tense. Newt always seemed to be working so hard to make Hermann feel good, rarely so wrapped up in his own pleasure that he couldn’t do a little something for Hermann in return, or in this case, put on a bit of a show for him. Still, Hermann felt slightly bereft now, as most of Newt had just gotten further away. Also, Newt’s prick was now being neglected, as he had no free hand to stroke it with. Hermann took up the task, grasping and stroking Newt, watching his face as the pleasure built, until it seemed to be too much. Newt began to struggle, in his carefully balanced position, to pump his hips hard enough to get as much cock as he wanted.

“God damn, Hermann, you’re gonna make me come,” Newt said, and Hermann was struck profoundly by this statement, doubtless much more so than Newt had necessarily intended. He had spent the last few weeks pleasuring Newt with his hands, with his mouth, but what was going on right now was different: the thing that he was doing with his prick to make Newt feel good was also the thing that was making _him_ feel good. Their bodies were connecting in a way they hadn’t before. The more Newt worked himself up and down on Hermann’s cock to get close to orgasm, the closer Hermann got, as well.

Newt’s wordless cry as he shot several lush spurts onto Hermann’s chest was more intense than anything Hermann had yet heard from him. The moment he caught his breath, Newt hollered, “Fucking put your load in me, dude. Do it now!”

Hermann leaned forward, wrapped his arms around Newt, and pulled him back where he’d been, close and warm. His hands slid down to Newt’s rump, grabbing and squeezing it. Without meaning to, his finger brushed the hot, slippery place where their bodies were joined, and he gasped.

“I’ll do it,” Hermann said. “Just…squeeze me.”

Newt grunted as he clenched his inner muscles around Hermann’s prick. Just once was all it took, before a powerful tingling in his thighs told Hermann that he had reached the point of inevitability. Operating on pure instinct, he gripped Newt’s hips and pushed him down, burying his cock completely in Newt’s body. Hot pleasure lanced through his limbs, and his back arched and kinked as colors exploded behind his closed eyelids. “Oh, my darling,” he whispered, “I’m giving it to you. I’m giving it to you.”

His convulsive ecstasy seemed to go on and on, past the point where he felt he could endure it. His mind was beginning to unfog, but now his heart felt full to bursting, with the experience he’d just shared with Newt. Suddenly his throat tightened, and tears spilled from his eyes. Terrified, he clung to Newt, burying his face in Newt’s neck, his sobbing unrestrained.

Newt unhesitatingly returned the embrace, and asked gently, “Hey buddy, are you okay?”

Hermann cried for a little while longer, still clutching Newt as hard as he could. Each time he tried to form words, he could only wail and sob. Finally, as he wore himself out and began to calm, he managed to get out one sentence: “I thought that I would never have this.”

By now, Hermann’s cock had softened, and he slipped free of Newt’s body. Newt continued to hold him, while he whispered hoarsely against Newt’s chest, “I thought that this was a joy for other people to experience, but not me. I assumed I would go my whole life without feeling this way, and I thought that was fine. I told myself, I couldn’t possibly be missing out on that much. I had no idea how good it felt. It was beautiful. I was _inside_ you.”

“And it was _amazing_ ,” Newt gushed. “I want you to do it again and again.”

Hermann sighed deeply as he allowed his body to succumb to the oxytocin flooding it. He continued to hold Newt tight, not wanting to let him go, ever.

Newt shifted minutely, several times, before it occurred to Hermann that holding his position might be less than comfortable for him. He released Newt, allowed him to sit up straight. As the cocktail of gratifying brain chemicals cleared, they realized what a sweaty, sticky mess they both were.

“Do you want to take a shower together?” Newt asked.

“That sounds lovely.”

Newt hefted himself off Hermann’s lap, then turned to help Hermann stand. For the first time in his life, Hermann smiled at the help he needed, because he knew the weakness he felt was from too much good sex.

Newt had a blast in the shower, lathering Hermann up, running slippery hands all over his still-trembling body. Hermann, at least at first, felt he wasn’t able to wash Newt very effectively in return, because he had to keep one hand on the shower bar most of the time. But then Newt suggested Hermann use _him_ for balance and support, and Hermann clinging to him was a little more fun, although Newt still had to wash quite a lot of himself. Though Hermann was embarrassed that he couldn’t seem to succeed at performing this ritual of intimacy, Newt assured him that even among able-bodied couples, the washing-each-other was mostly “for funsies,” not for actually getting clean. So long as Hermann had had a little fun, they’d pretty much hit the bullseye with their own efforts. Hermann trusted his conclusion.


	14. Chapter 14

Hermann woke as he often did these days, to the feeling of Newt’s tightening grip around his waist. When they were in bed, Newt would retreat without protest if Hermann asked aloud for space, but if he did not, Newt would correct the slightest gap between them by snuggling up tighter or by pulling Hermann back towards him.

Often, and especially when he did this in the morning, Hermann could distinctly feel Newt’s erection against his behind. This did not bother him in the least, except it did create a little suspense: would Newt ignore it, and either roll over or get up without doing anything about it, or would he start to press it more deliberately against Hermann, to see how amenable he might be to a little rub-and-tug?

The brightness outside indicated that it was getting on in the morning – Hermann had gotten seven or eight hours of sleep, and so although he was still a little drowsy, now that he was awake he would likely remain awake. He didn’t have the heart to pry Newt’s arm away from himself, so he decided to just relax into the feeling of being warm and securely held...and the object of some gentle prodding, which was growing more rhythmic and insistent. Newt was also definitely awake.

Hermann sighed deeply, but covered Newt’s hand with his own as he did so, to make sure Newt knew that he had no desire to wriggle free or get up. Newt hummed in response, and rolled his hips a little more, pressing his erection right into the cleft of Hermann’s behind.

To indicate that he was receptive to Newt’s advances, Hermann reached under the covers to tug his pajama bottoms down. Newt immediately did the same, and then they were skin-to-skin.

Hermann pushed back a little, but froze up when Newt put a hand on his hip. “Can I grab you here?”

Not wanting to spoil the mood, Hermann tried to keep his tone gentle. “It will hurt if you grab it hard, or try to pull me back against you that way.”

“Okay, that’s fine, that’s fine.” Newt moved his hand back to Hermann’s waist, thrusting against him with a grunt. He whispered, “Can you reach the lube?”

Hermann was wide awake now, after his moment of panic about Newt touching his bad hip, and wondered what Newt was planning to do with the lube. At the same time, however, he trusted Newt, and so with only the slightest hesitation, he felt around on the nightstand, knocking his phone onto the floor before he managed to grab the bottle. Newt took it from him and pulled back from Herman slightly; cool air hit his damp skin where Newt had been pressed to him. Then he felt Newt’s prick prodding him again. Newt’s forceful but specifically targeted poking made it clear that he wanted between Hermann’s thighs. Hermann needed to shift only a fraction of an inch before Newt could slide smoothly home, until the head of his prick was pressing against Hermann’s balls.

“Mm, that’s good,” Newt murmured, and began to work himself back and forth, desperately trying to resist the urge to grab Hermann’s hip for leverage. After a little while, he applied more lube, and that made it easier.

Hermann gasped as Newt’s shaft slid right over his hole. Gripping Hermann hard, Newt did not have a free hand with which to touch his cock, but Hermann was happy to do it himself, while feeling Newt’s hot breath against the back of his neck, every exhalation a whimper. 

“ _Huh_ -Hermann,” Newt panted, “can I put it inside? Please say yes.”

This was a new request. Hermann swallowed. “I don’t...know...”

“I’ll use my fingers first. I’ll make it good for you, oh fuck, I’ll make it so good.”

“Alright,” Hermann said, “do it.” God, he’d never realized it, but he had been so touch-starved, for so may years, that even after weeks of intimacy with Newt, he was still half out of his mind with pleasure just from a bit of frotting, and ready to go along with anything Newt asked.

Of course, as soon as he agreed, Newt had to pull away again, to slick up his fingers, and even though it was just for a few seconds, Hermann let go of his prick and flung his arm behind him to grab at Newt, pull him close again. “Just a second,” Newt huffed, and then slid his slippery fingers all the way down the cleft of Hermann’s behind until he found the right spot. Hermann pushed back, and Newt’s first finger went up him in one stroke.

Newt squeaked with surprise when he heard the language Hermann used at that moment. The moan that spilled from Hermann’s mouth immediately afterwards was also new; Hermann was quite sure that even at the height of ecstasy, he had not made a noise like that when he was inside Newt. He was embarrassed for a brief moment, but soon found himself preoccupied with making more, similar noises, as Newt expertly found his prostate. An all-over shudder wracked his body, and his now-throbbing prick began to leak in earnest.

“God, is this what it feels like? No wonder you love this.” Hermann clutched at the pillow beneath his head as Newt massaged him deeply. The second finger that pressed inside him was very welcome, as it allowed Newt to rub even harder as he twisted both of them around. Hermann did not even want to touch himself at this point; the prospect seemed too intense, simply too much for him to handle.

“I’m gonna put it in,” Newt shouted, too excited now to control the volume of his voice. Hermann made a lengthy non-verbal noise which he hoped conveyed his being amenable to this. Newt struggled to grip his slick cock with his slick hand long enough to aim it at Hermann’s slick hole, but after sliding it around a bit, he got where he was trying to go, and the swell of the crown pushed inside.

Hermann managed to grind out a few words: “Is that all of it?”

Newt almost laughed. “That’s hardly any of it. Do you feel full?”

“Yes. God.”

“It’ll be good, I promise.” Newt pushed in a little more. “You’re gonna feel _really_ full, but when I get up in there, and hit your sweet spot, it’ll feel so good.”

Hermann believed that Newt could be trusted on this, as he’d experienced it himself. He obeyed when Newt advised, “Push, bear down,” and slid even more of his cock inside. It was difficult to relax around, but Newt, as was usually the case in these matters, was right: when Newt pushed up inside him in just the right way, Hermann felt a deep pulse of pleasure, where nothing had ever touched him before.

Being full of cock was so intense, Hermann hardly knew what to do with himself. All these new feelings, which were so unfamiliar, elaborate, and urgent, made touching himself seem superfluous, just a ridiculously small amount of pleasure to place on top of what was happening inside him. Becoming increasingly pliant as Newt rocked into him, Hermann lay still and let him do most of the work, which Newt seemed perfectly fine with. Newt snaked his other arm beneath Hermann, to wrap tightly around his chest, thrusting into him with all his might. “Yes!” he cried, “Yes, oh my god, Hermann, you’re gonna come so hard! I’m gonna make you come so hard!”

“You’re shouting right in my ear,” Hermann complained.

“Oop, sorry, sorry.”

“It’s alright. I’m very close, please don’t stop.”

Newt wanted to keep shouting, so he pressed his forehead between Hermann’s shoulder blades and continued to scream, “Is that good? Is that perfect?”

“Yes,” Hermann confessed, as Newt grazed his prostate about two strokes out of every three. He jerked himself hard and fast, no longer afraid of the intensity, chasing it now, wanting to come so badly. Clutching desperately at him, Newt shrieked, “I fucking love you so much, I want to make you so happy, I want to make you come, I love you.”

It was these words that sent Hermann over the edge. His hole clenched as he climaxed, which caused him to cry out, high harsh sounds that he was powerless to suppress. Overloaded with incredible sensation, Hermann quaked and shuddered as hot streaks of spunk coursed through his prick. His eyes widened one last time in surprise when he felt Newt gushing inside him, heard the filthy squelching sounds of him continuing to move through his own seed.

Only when Newt went limp behind him did Hermann feel like he, too, could calm down, and their frantic gusts of breath slowed to dreamy sighs.

Hermann turned onto his back, so he could talk to Newt properly. “So, now that I’ve tried both,” he said, “I have to choose one?”

Newt made a dismissive noise. “Absolutely not. I mean, if you do only want to do one, I can swing that, but if you like both, uh, I like both too.”

“Excellent.” Hermann was quiet for a moment, then smiled to himself.

Newt said, “What? What is it?”

“It’s just funny. When I was the ‘top,’ I was on the bottom, and when I was the ‘bottom,’ we were side by side.”

Newt laughed and shrugged. “Sex doesn’t make any sense.”

“It really doesn’t.” They lapsed into silence, punctuated by the occasional sigh.

“I kind of don’t want to get out of bed,” Newt said several minutes later, stretching. “I mean, the best thing that could possibly happen today just happened.”

Hermann opened his eyes and frowned. “If you don’t get up, though, you won’t be able to make me pancakes.”

“Hm, fair,” said Newt, and hauled himself out of the bed.


	15. Chapter 15

Remembering Chris’ instructions, that they could travel anywhere they liked, within certain parameters, they began to discuss whether they might like to try just leaving the apartment, for a start. Their trip to Eyebright headquarters had been a private tour in a private car, with absolutely no contact with outsiders, so that hardly counted. Neither of them were susceptible to cabin fever, having gotten accustomed to being cooped up in various Shatterdomes for the duration of the war, but the idea of exploring a little, enjoying perhaps just a few square blocks of the new post-kaiju world, appealed to them both. (There was also a small chance that, having fallen in love, they both now harbored a desire to take the next step in their relationship, namely showing off their couplehood to the world, making strangers either envious or uncomfortable by holding hands and smooching in public.)

It was a team effort, making a clear and definite suggestion that they should go out. It was an evening when they were both in bed, reading on their tablets. Typically they did not do this together, because Newt would always read or see something funny on his, laugh at it, and then interrupt Hermann to tell him about it. But this evening, Newt was behaving himself, reading a lengthy article about coral reef restoration, and it was Hermann who interrupted:

“Did you know that the largest bookstore in the world is here in Portland?”

Newt turned to him and blinked slowly. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that, did you say the largest collection of useless dead-tree physical media is here in Portland?”

“Until every book in existence has been converted to a digital format,” Hermann huffed, “I will continue to enjoy bookstores. And that will never happen, so I will probably continue to enjoy bookstores for the rest of my life.”

Newt put down his tablet. “Do you want to take me to the bookstore? Is that what you’re saying?”

Hermann looked off into the middle distance for a moment before answering. “Actually, I rather prefer the idea of _you_ taking _me_ to the bookstore. That’s more romantic, don’t you think?”

Newt smiled and patted Hermann’s knee. “I’d love to take you to the bookstore.”

***

Spanning an entire city block and housing over one million books, Powell’s surpassed any bookstore Hermann had had the opportunity to visit before, even Waterstones Piccadilly and the Strand in New York – and it combined the best qualities of both: Strand’s sheer quantity with Waterstones’ tidiness and organization. Hermann was awestruck the moment he walked in the door, and bumped into several people in his first twenty steps for not paying attention to where he was going. Newt was careful to always stand on Hermann’s left, so he could take his free arm and guide him a little. He was also the first to see the stack of maps. “A bookstore with a map,” Hermann said with reverence, and unfolded it immediately. As he perused the meticulous diagram, Newt noticed the bright, colorful image covering the entirety of the reverse side: a cartoon Jaeger, crouched in a bay of indeterminate geographical location, reading a book, with a stack of other books sitting by its side, on a pier.

Hermann wanted to see it all, but he decided to start with the science fiction section, which was the nearest, located one room over. On the way there, shelves full of tabletop RPG manuals caught Newt’s eye, but Hermann passed right by them, and Newt was torn over whether they should split up so soon. He would be less bored, certainly, but he felt oddly reluctant to leave Hermann’s side. Even after years of being practically arms’ length from each other in the Shatterdome, and many times thinking very hard about the concept of justifiable homicide, ever since they’d drifted, it felt like the two of them had begun all over again, and were thus blissfully cocooned in New Relationship Energy. So Newt followed Hermann.

Hermann snatched up two anthologies of Soviet science fiction from the early 1980’s the moment he saw them. “I’ll bet you anything you can’t find these on that BrightBuy tablet,” he said smugly. Newt shrugged, as if that was no big loss. He amused himself by looking for the most ridiculously over-the-top cheesy paperback covers, the ones with “exotic” aliens that were just different-colored wolves, or where the heroines wore space helmets and little else, while Hermann continued to browse more earnestly. When he was done with those shelves, Hermann consulted the map for the sections on various sciences, and continued leading Newt around the store.

By the time they got to the books about math – not even textbooks, just like actual books about math that you were expected to read for enjoyment! – Newt believed he had found the limits of his tolerance. “I’m going to go look at the gaming stuff,” he said. “And then the graphic novels. Text me when you’re ready to go?”

Hermann nodded. Newt started to walk away, but then Hermann said, in a stage whisper, “Wait.” Newt returned to his side, and Hermann looked around, then fidgeted briefly, before giving Newt a very quick, very light kiss on the cheek. Newt’s knees got so weak, he nearly fell into the endcap on his way out.

It was about the time that Hermann looked at the stack of books that he’d acquired, and wished he’d grabbed one of the baskets he’d seen by the registers, that a woman approached him. Sensing that she was trying to look at the same shelf he was looking at, he shuffled to one side, to give her room. To his horror, it soon became clear that she wanted to talk to him. “Are you one of those scientists?” she said, struggling to keep her voice down in her excitement. “The ones that drifted with a kaiju?”

Hermann immediately began to sweat. What idiots he and Newt had been, not to have discussed a protocol beforehand for this situation. He had absolutely no idea how dangerous it might be to own up to their identities in public. Despite Eyebright’s promises, he and Newt might still be wanted men.

Thinking it better to err on the side of caution, Hermann did his best to affect an American accent, adjusting his rhoticity and flattening any hint of a lilt. “I’ve been getting that a lot these days,” he said, trying to laugh a little. “But no, I’m not that...guy.”

“Oh, haha, well you look just like him. Or you look like the picture that they keep showing on TV.” Hermann nodded along with what she was saying, not daring to speak again, after hearing the atrociously bad accent that had just come out of his own mouth. “It must drive you nuts; everyone’s looking for those two scientists. They saved the world and then just disappeared. Isn’t that weird?”

“Mm hmm,” Hermann said.

“Okay, well sorry to bother you,” she said, and walked away, although she turned and gave him one last quizzical look as she rounded the aisle.

Hermann took out his phone and quickly texted Newt: _I need to find you immediately so we can get out of here_. He then reconsidered, picturing Newt flying into a panic about such a message, so he deleted it and tried again: _I’m ready to go. Meet you at the map stand where we came in?_ He looked at his stack of books and decided he couldn’t leave such great finds, and took them with him to purchase. They had walked through several sections of the store before he’d been spotted, so perhaps he could get away with lining up at the register without being recognized.

What he found as he made his way back to the entrance was Newt, surrounded by several young men in comic book t-shirts, showing off his damned arm tattoos to them. “Hermann!” he said, and held up a book. “Look at this! D and D seventh edition is out!”

Hermann barreled up to Newt and whispered ferociously in his ear. Newt nodded and quickly said to his new friends, “Hey guys, we gotta go, but it was nice talking to you!” They made their purchases and left, summoning a driverless Eyebright car and directing it to take them home.

As soon as Newt shut the passenger door, he said, “Dude, what is the problem? Everything’s cool, no one’s coming to arrest us!”

“Gaming enthusiasts you just met are not a reliable source of information on what our current status is on the world stage. We need to find out exactly what is going on before we go out in public again. I’m sorry that I did not investigate sooner, but I just...couldn’t bear to know.”

“Uh, I know that, that’s why I looked it up like a week ago. We’re fine. We’re heroes. It’s just that then we fell off the radar, and people are wondering what is up with us. There are all these cool conspiracy theories and stuff! But it’s cool. No one’s after us.”

Hermann’s mouth hung open. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you seemed to be doing okay and I didn’t want to screw up a chance to go outside. And I thought, a giant bookstore would be a suitably nerdy location in which to make our first public appearance after the war.”

“But why didn’t you say anything _in the bookstore_? When I was in a panic?”

“Because you were already freaking out? And once you start freaking out, there’s not a whole lot I can do to calm you down. I figured the best strategy was just to get you someplace where we could talk without making a scene. You love making a scene but I thought you would have regretted it this time.”

Hermann paused to absorb all of what Newt had just said, then composed himself and nodded stiffly. “That...that was very conscientious of you, to respect my feelings while also taking into consideration our very specific circumstances. Thank you, and I’m sorry I rushed you out the door when you were talking to some people.”

“It’s cool. Those guys already gave me their emails so I can join their game group.”

“You—please do not tell me you gave them your email, or told them where we live.”

“Not yet. I’ll wait. I promise. I’ll wait until you’re cool with it.”

Back at home, Newt sat Hermann down in front of the television, and showed him some of the news coverage about them. What Newt had said was true: they were lauded as heroes. Raleigh and Mako were the first two people that members of the press were climbing over each other to interview, but it was Mako who explained that they couldn’t have done what they had done if the K-science team had not drifted with the kaiju hivemind to discover the secret to passing through the Breach.

As for that, for what Newt and Hermann had done, and their subsequent disappearance, the demands of the 24-hour news cycle meant that nearly all of the coverage was filler: “experts” and “pundits” speculating endlessly on their motivations and whereabouts. Had drifting with a dead kaiju driven them insane? Had they joined a kaiju cult? Had they been kidnapped by the government (which one? Spin a wheel and take your pick), to do secret work in an underground laboratory? Everyone had a theory, but no one had any evidence pointing to any particular conclusion.

“That will change now,” Hermann said. “Those boys you met at the bookstore will definitely tattle on us.”

“Yeah, but it’s fine. People love us.”

Newt showed Hermann some of the responses to those news clips. The comments sections and vlogger reactions were where the wildest conspiracy theories were, but Newt scrolled past those to get to a few choice statements that he’d found a few days ago. One comment read: _I want to go to Vegas and place a bet that Geiszler and Gottlieb will be the next Nobel Prize winners, but no one on Earth would take those odds._

Newt scrolled to a video that had clearly been recorded in someone’s bedroom, but which had 1,973,547 hits. He watched Hermann’s face as he played it: “Ay yo,” the vlogger said, “these scientists are my fucking heroes forever, and wherever they are, I hope they’re getting their dicks sucked like _all_ the time.”

Hermann put his hand over his mouth to stifle his reaction, but the second he made eye contact with Newt, he burst out laughing. He felt silly for having worried; it seemed things were going to be alright after all.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s the fic! Sorry, I know I teased you with the possibility of an actual plot, and then just descended into fluff and smut, but I just needed to write what I wrote as an alternative to what happened in Uprising. I may continue in this ‘verse in the future, but for now, I hope you found this as helpful as I did. :)
> 
> Check out my other Newmann fics on AO3 or berlynn-wohl.tumblr for more of this sort of nonsense.


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